SIMON 
J.  STOKER  CLOUSTON 


SIMON 


BY 

J.  STOKER  CLOUSTON 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  MAN  FROM  THE  CLOUDS,"  "THE  SPY 
IN  BLACK,"  "THE  LUNATIC  AT  LARGE."  ETC 


NEW  HiPjy  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    1919. 
BY  GEORGE  H.   DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  The  Solitary  Passenger 9 

II.  The  Procurator  Fiscal 16 

III.  The  Heir 23 

IV.  The  Man  from  the  West 31 

V.  The  Third  Visitor 40 

VI.  At  Night 48 

VII.  The  Drive  Home 56 

VIII.  Sir  Reginald 67 

IX.  A  Philosopher 74 

X.  The  Letter 80 

XI.  News 89 

XII.  Cicely 100 

XIII.  The  Deductive  Process 106 

XIV.  The  Question  of  Motive 114 

XV.  Two  Women 123 

XVI.  Rumour 128 

XVII.  A  Suggestion 135 

XVIII.  £1200 143 

XIX.  The  Empty  Compartment       ....  148 

XX.  The  Sporting  Visitor 154 

XXI.  Mr.  Camngton's  Walk 161 

XXII.  Mr.  Carrington  and  the  Fiscal     ...  168 

XXIII.  Simon's  Views 176 

XXIV.  Mr.  Bisset's  Assistant 185 

V 


2134867 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAOF 

XXV.  A  Telegram 196 

XXVI.  At  Stanesland 201 

XXVII.  Flight 209 

XXVIII.  The  Return 216 

XXIX.  Brother  and  Sister 224 

XXX.  A  Marked  Man 229 

XXXI.  The  Letter  Again      .      .     .      .      .      .240 

XXXII.  The  Sympathetic  Stranger       ...  247 

XXXIII.  The  House  of  Mysteries     ....  253 

XXXIV.  A  Confidential  Conversation    ...  261 
XXXV.  In  the  Garden 2T1 

XXXVI.  The  Walking  Stick 278 

XXXVII.  Bisset's  Advice 285 

XXXVIH.  Trapped 291 

XXXIX.  The  Yarn 301 

XL.  The  Last  Chapter 312 


SIMON 


SIMON 


THE  SOLITARY  PASSENGER 

THE  train  had  come  a  long  journey  and  the 
afternoon  was  wearing  on.  The  passenger  in 
the  last  third  class  compartment  but  one,  looking 
out  of  the  window  sombrely  and  intently,  saw 
nothing  now  but  desolate  brown  hills  and  a  wind- 
ing lonely  river,  very  northern  looking  under  the 
autumnal  sky. 

He  was  alone  in  the  carriage,  and  if  any  one 
had  happened  to  study  his  movements  during  the 
interminable  journey,  they  would  have  concluded 
that  for  some  reason  he  seemed  to  have  a  singu- 
larly strong  inclination  for  solitude.  In  fact  this 
was  at  least  the  third  compartment  he  had  occu- 
pied, for  whenever  a  fellow  traveller  entered,  he 
unostentatiously  descended,  and  in  a  moment  had 
slipped,  also  unostentatiously,  into  an  empty 
carriage.  Finally  he  had  selected  one  at  the 
extreme  end  of  the  train,  a  judicious  choice  which 
had  ensured  privacy  for  the  last  couple  of  hours. 

When  the  train  at  length  paused  in  the  midst 
of  the  moorlands  and  for  some  obscure  reason 


10  SIMON 

this  spot  was  selected  for  the  examination  of 
tickets,  another  feature  of  this  traveller's  char- 
acter became  apparent.  He  had  no  ticket,  he 
confessed,  but  named  the  last  station  as  his  place 
of  departure  and  the  next  as  his  destination. 
Being  an  entirely  respectable  looking  person,  his 
statement  was  accepted  and  he  slipped  the  change 
for  half  a  crown  into  his  pocket;  just  as  he  had 
done  a  number  of  times  previously  in  the  course 
of  his  journey.  Evidently  the  passenger  was  of 
an  economical  as  well  as  of  a  secretive  disposition. 

As  the  light  began  to  fade  and  the  grey  sky  to 
change  into  a  deeper  grey,  and  the  lighted  train 
to  glitter  through  the  darkening  moors,  and  he 
could  see  by  his  watch  that  their  distant  goal  was 
now  within  an  hour's  journey,  the  man  showed 
for  the  first  time  signs  of  a  livelier  interest.  He 
peered  out  keenly  into  the  dusk  as  though  recog- 
nising old  landmarks,  and  now  and  then  he 
shifted  in  his  seat  restlessly  and  a  little  nervously. 

He  was  a  man  of  middle  age  or  upwards,  of 
middle  height,  and  thickset.  Round  his  neck  he 
wore  a  muffler,  so  drawn  up  as  partially  to  con- 
ceal the  lower  part  of  his  face,  and  a  black  felt 
hat  was  drawn  down  over  his  eyes.  Between  them 
could  be  seen  only  the  gleam  of  his  eyes,  the  tip 
of  his  nose,  and  the  stiff  hairs  of  a  grizzled 
moustache. 

Out  of  his  overcoat  pocket  he  pulled  a  pipe  and 
for  a  moment  looked  at  it  doubtfully,  and  then, 
as  if  the  temptation  were  irresistible,  he  took  out 
a  tobacco  pouch  too.  It  was  almost  flat  and  he 


THE  SOLITARY  PASSENGER  11 

jealously  picked  up  a  shred  that  fell  on  the  floor, 
and  checked  himself  at  last  when  the  bowl  was 
half  filled.  And  then  for  a  while  he  smoked 
very  slowly,  savouring  each  whiff. 

When  they  stopped  at  the  last  station  or  two, 
the  reserved  and  exclusive  disposition  of  this 
traveller  became  still  more  apparent.  Not  only 
was  he  so  muffled  up  as  to  make  recognition  by 
an  unwelcome  acquaintance  exceedingly  difficult, 
but  so  long  as  they  paused  at  the  stations  he  sat 
with  his  face  resting  on  his  hand,  and  when  they 
moved  on  again,  an  air  of  some  relief  was  appar- 
ent. 

But  a  still  more  remarkable  instance  of  this 
sensitive  passion  for  privacy  appeared  when  the 
train  stopped  at  the  ticket  platform  just  outside 
its  final  destination.  Even  as  they  were  slowing 
down,  he  fell  on  his  knees  and  then  stretched 
himself  at  full  length  on  the  floor,  and  when  the 
door  was  flung  open  for  an  instant,  the  com- 
partment was  to  all  appearances  empty.  Only 
when  they  were  well  under  way  again  did  this 
retiring  traveller  emerge  from  beneath  the  seat. 

And  when  he  did  emerge,  his  conduct  con- 
tinued to  be  of  a  piece  with  this  curious  perform- 
ance. He  glanced  out  of  the  window  for  an 
instant  at  the  lights  of  the  platform  ahead,  and 
the  groups  under  them,  and  the  arch  of  the  sta- 
tion roof  against  the  night  sky,  and  then  swiftly 
stepped  across  the  carriage  and  gently  opened 
the  door  on  the  wrong  side.  By  the  time  the 
train  was  fairly  at  rest,  the  door  had  been  as 


12  SIMON 

quietly  closed  again  and  the  man  was  picking 
his  way  over  the  sleepers  in  the  darkness,  past 
the  guard's  van  and  away  from  the  station  and 
publicity.  Certainly  he  had  succeeded  in  achiev- 
ing a  singularly  economical  and  private  journey. 

For  a  few  minutes  he  continued  to  walk  back 
along  the  line,  and  then  after  a  wary  look  all 
round  him,  he  sprang  up  the  low  bank  at  the 
side,  threw  his  leg  over  a  wire  fence,  and  with 
infinite  care  began  to  make  his  way  across  a 
stubble  field.  As  he  approached  the  wall  on  the 
further  side  of  the  field  his  precautions  increased. 
He  listened  intently,  crouched  down  once  or 
twice,  and  when  at  last  he  reached  the  wall,  he 
peered  over  it  very  carefully  before  he  mounted 
and  dropped  on  the  other  side. 

"Well,"  he  murmured,  "I'm  here,  by  God,  at 
lastl" 

He  was  standing  now  in  a  road  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town.  On  the  one  hand  it  led  into 
a  dim  expanse  of  darkened  country ;  on  the  other 
the  Ifghts  of  the  town  twinkled.  Across  the 
road,  a  few  villas  stood  back  amidst  trees,  with 
gates  opening  on  to  a  footpath,  the  outlying 
houses  of  the  town ;  and  the  first  lamp-post  stood 
a  little  way  down  this  path.  The  man  crossed 
the  road  and  turned  townwards,  walking  slowly 
and  apparently  at  his  ease.  What  seemed  to 
interest  him  now  was  not  his  own  need  for  privacy 
but  the  houses  and  gates  he  was  passing.  At  one 
open  gate  in  particular  he  half  paused  and  then 
seemed  to  spy  something  ahead  that  altered  his 


THE  SOLITARY  PASSENGER  13 

plans.  Under  a  lamp-post  a  figure  appeared  to 
be  lingering,  and  at  the  sight  of  this,  the  man 
drew  his  hat  still  more  closely  over  his  face  and 
moved  on. 

As  he  drew  near  the  lamp  the  forms  of  two 
youths  became  manifest,  apparently  loitering 
there  idly.  The  man  kept  his  eyes  on  the  ground, 
passed  them  at  a  brisk  walk  and  went  on  his 
way  into  the  town. 

"Damn  them!"  he  muttered. 

This  incident  seemed  to  have  deranged  his 
plans  a  little  for  his  movements  during  the  next 
half  hour  were  so  purposeless  as  to  suggest  that 
he  was  merely  putting  in  time.  Down  one  street 
and  up  another  he  walked,  increasing  his  pace 
when  he  had  to  pass  any  fellow  walkers,  and  then 
again  falling  slow  at  certain  corners  and  looking 
round  him  curiously  as  though  those  dark  lanes 
and  half -lit  streets  were  reminiscent. 

Even  seen  in  the  light  of  the  infrequent  lamps 
and  the  rays  from  thinly  blinded  windows,  it 
was  evidently  but  a  small  country  town  of  a 
hard,  grey  stone,  northern  type.  The  ends  of 
certain  lanes  seemed  to  open  into  the  empty 
country  itself,  and  one  could  hear  the  regular 
cadence  of  waves  hard  by  upon  a  shore. 

"It  doesn't  seem  to  have  changed  much,"  said 
the  man  to  himself. 

He  worked  his  way  round,  like  one  quite  famil- 
iar with  the  route  he  followed,  till  at  length  he 
drew  near  the  same  quiet  country  road  whence 
he  had  started.  This  time  he  stopped  for  a  few 


14  SIMON 

minutes  in  the  thickest  shadow  and  scanned  each 
dim  circle  of  radiance  ahead.  Nobody  seemed 
now  to  be  within  the  rays  of  the  lamps  or  to  be 
moving  in  the  darkness  between.  He  went  on 
warily  till  he  had  come  nearly  to  the  same  open 
gate  where  he  had  paused  before,  and  then  there 
fell  upon  his  ears  the  sound  of  steps  behind  him 
and  he  stopped  again  and  looked  sharply  over 
his  shoulder. 

Somebody  was  following,  but  at  a  little  dis- 
tance off,  and  after  hesitating  for  an  instant,  he 
seemed  to  make  up  his  mind  to  risk  it,  and  turned 
swiftly  and  stealthily  through  the  gates.  A  short 
drive  of  some  pretentious  ran  between  trees  and 
then  curved  round  towards  the  house,  but  there 
was  no  lodge  or  any  sign  of  a  possible  watcher, 
and  the  man  advanced  for  a  few  yards  swiftly 
and  confidently  enough.  And  then  he  stopped 
abruptly.  Under  the  shade  of  the  trees  the  drive 
ahead  was  pitch  dark,  but  footsteps  and  voices 
were  certainly  coming  from  the  house.  In  an 
instant  he  had  vanished  into  the  belt  of  plantation 
along  one  side  of  the  drive. 

The  footsteps  and  voices  ceased,  and  then  the 
steps  began  again,  timidly  at  first  and  then  hur- 
riedly. The  belt  of  shrubs  and  trees  was  just 
thick  enough  to  hide  a  man  perfectly  on  a  moon- 
less cloudy  night  like  this.  Yet  on  either  side  the 
watcher  could  see  enough  of  what  was  beyond  to 
note  that  he  stood  between  the  dark  drive  on  one 
hand  and  a  lighter  space  of  open  garden  on  the 
other,  and  he  could  even  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 


THE  SOLITARY  PASSENGER  15 

house  against  the  sky.  Light  shone  brightly  from 
the  fanlight  over  the  front  door,  and  less  dis- 
tinctly from  one  window  upstairs  and  through 
the  slats  of  a  blind  in  a  downstairs  room.  For 
a  moment  he  looked  in  that  direction  and  then 
intently  watched  the  drive. 

The  footsteps  by  this  time  were  almost  on  the 
run.  The  vague  forms  of  two  women  passed 
swiftly  and  he  could  see  their  faces  dimly  turned 
towards  him  as  they  hurried  by.  They  passed 
through  the  gates  and  were  gone,  and  then  a 
minute  later  men's  voices  in  the  road  cried  out 
a  greeting.  And  after  that  the  silence  fell  pro- 
found. 


II 

THE  PROCURATOR  FISCAL 

THE  procurator  fiscal  breakfasted  at  8.30, 
punctually,  and  at  8.30  as  usual  he  entered  his 
severely  upholstered  dining-room  and  shut  the 
door  behind  him.  The  windows  looked  into  a 
spacious  garden  with  a  belt  of  trees  leading  up  to 
the  house  from  the  gate,  and  this  morning  Mr. 
Rattar,  who  was  a  machine  for  habit,  departed  in 
one  trifling  particular  from  his  invariable  routine. 
Instead  of  sitting  straight  down  to  the  business 
of  breakfasting,  he  stood  for  a  minute  or  tw9 
at  the  window  gazing  into  the  garden,  and  then 
he  came  to  the  table  very  thoughtfully. 

~No  man  in  that  northern  county  was  better 
known  or  more  widely  respected  than  Mr.  Simon 
Rattar.  In  person,  he  was  a  thickset  man  of 
middle  height  and  elderly  middle  age,  with  cold 
steady  eyes  and  grizzled  hair.  His  clean  shaved 
face  was  chiefly  remarkable  for  the  hardness  of 
his  tight-shut  mouth,  and  the  obstinacy  of  the 
chin  beneath  it.  Professionally,  he  was  lawyer 
to  several  of  the  larger  landowners  and  factor 
on  their  estates,  and  lawyer  and  adviser  also  to 
many  other  people  in  various  stations  in  life. 
Officially,  he  was  procurator  fiscal  for  the  county, 

16 


THE  PROCURATOR  FISCAL  17 

ae  setter  in  motion  of  all  criminal  processes,  and 
generalissimo,  so  to  speak,  of  the  police;  and 
one  way  and  another,  he  had  the  reputation  of 
being  a  very  comfortably  well  off  gentleman 
indeed. 

As  for  his  abilities,  they  were  undeniably  con- 
siderable, of  the  hard,  cautious,  never-caught- 
asleep  order ;  and  his  taciturn  manner  and  way  of 
drinking  in  everything  said  to  him  while  he  looked 
at  you  out  of  his  steady  eyes,  and  then  merely 
nodded  and  gave  a  significant  little  grunt  at  the 
end,  added  immensely  to  his  reputation  for  pro- 
found wisdom.  People  were  able  to  quote  few 
definite  opinions  uttered  by  "Silent  Simon,"  but 
any  that  could  be  quoted  were  shrewdness  itself. 

He  was  a  bachelor,  and  indeed,  it  was  difficult 
for  the  most  fanciful  to  imagine  Silent  Simon 
married.  Even  in  his  youth  he  had  not  been 
attracted  by  the  other  sex,  and  his  own  qualities 
certainly  did  not  attract  them.  Not  that  there 
was  a  word  to  be  said  seriously  against  him. 
Hard  and  shrewd  though  he  was,  his  respecta- 
bility was' extreme  and  his  observance  of  the  con- 
ventions scrupulous  to  a  fault.  He  was  an  elder 
of  the  Kirk,  a  non-smoker,  an  abstemious  drinker 
(to  be  an  out  and  out  teetotaler  would  have  been 
a  little  too  remarkable  in  those  regions  for  a  man 
of  Mr.  Rattar's  conventional  tastes),  and  indeed 
in  all  respects  he  trod  that  sober  path  that  leads 
to  a  semi-public  funeral  and  a  vast  block  of  gran- 
ite in  the  parish  kirkyard. 

He  had  acquired  his  substantial  villa  and  large 


18  SIMON 

garden  by  a  very  shrewd  bargain  a  number  of 
years  ago,  and  he  lived  there  with  just  the  decency 
that  his  condition  in  life  enjoined,  but  with  not  a 
suspicion  of  display  beyond  it.  He  kept  a  staff 
of  two  competent  and  respectable  girls,  just 
enough  to  run  a  house  of  that  size,  but  only  just; 
and  when  he  wanted  to  drive  abroad  he  hired  a 
conveyance  exactly  suitable  to  the  occasion  from 
the  most  respectable  hotel.  His  life,  in  short, 
was  ordered  to  the  very  best  advantage  possible. 

Enthusiastic  devotion  to  such  an  extremely 
exemplary  gentleman  was  a  little  difficult,  but  in 
his  present  housemaid,  Mary  MacLean,  he  had 
a  girl  with  a  strong  Highland  strain  of  fidelity  to 
a  master,  and  an  instinctive  devotion  to  his  in- 
terests, even  if  his  person  was  hardly  the  chief- 
tain her  heart  demanded.  She  was  a  soft  voiced, 
anxious  looking  young  woman,  almost  pretty 
despite  her  nervous  high  strung  air,  and  of  a 
quiet  and  modest  demeanour. 

Soon  after  her  master  had  begun  breakfast, 
Mary  entered  the  dining-room  with  an  apolo- 
getic air,  but  a  conscientious  eye. 

"Begging  your  pardon,  sir,"  she  began,  "but 
I  thought  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  when  cook 
and  me  was  going  out  to  the  concert  last  night 
we  thought  we  saw  something  in  the  drive." 

Mr.  Rattar  looked  up  at  her  sharply  and  fixed 
his  cold  eyes  on  her  steadily  for  a  moment,  never 
saying  a  word.  It  was  exactly  his  ordinary  habit, 
and  she  had  thought  she  was  used  to  it  by  now, 
yet  this  morning  she  felt  oddly  disconcerted. 


THE  PROCURATOR  FISCAL  19 

Then  it  struck  her  that  perhaps  it  was  the  red 
cut  on  his  chin  that  gave  her  this  curious  feeling. 
Silent  Simon's  hand  was  as  steady  as  a  rock  and 
she  never  remembered  his  having  cut  himself 
shaving  before ;  certainly  not  as  badly  as  this. 

"Saw  'something'?"  he  repeated  gruffly.  "What 
do  you  mean?" 

"It  looked  like  a  man,  sir,  and  it  seemed  to 
move  into  the  trees  almost  as  quick  as  we  saw  it!" 

"Tuts!"  muttered  Simon. 

"But  there  was  two  friends  of  ours  meeting  us 
in  the  road,"  she  hurried  on,  "and  they  thought 
they  saw  a  man  going  in  at  the  gate!" 

Her  master  seemed  a  little  more  impressed. 

"Indeed?"  said  he. 

"So  I  thought  it  was  my  duty  to  tell  you,  sir." 

"Quite  right,"  said  he. 

"For  I  felt  sure  it  couldn't  just  be  a  gentle- 
man coming  to  see  you,  sir,  or  he  wouldn't  have 
gone  into  the  trees." 

"Of  course  not,"  he  agreed  briefly.  "Nobody 
came  to  see  me." 

Mary  looked  at  him  doubtfully  and  hesitated 
for  a  moment. 

"Didn't  you  even  hear  anything,  sir?"  she 
asked  in  a  lowered  voice. 

Her  master's  quick  glance  made  her  jump. 

"Why?"  he  demanded. 

"Because,  sir,  I  found  footsteps  in  the  gravel 
this  morning — where  it's  soft  with  the  rain,  sir, 
just  under  the  library  window." 

Mr.  Rattar  looked  first  hard  at  her  and  then 


20  SIMON 

at  his  plate.  For  several  seconds  he  answered 
nothing,  and  then  he  said : 

"I  did  hear  some  one." 

There  was  something  both  in  his  voice  and  in 
his  eye  as  he  said  this  that  was  not  quite  like  the 
usual  Simon  Rattar.  Mary  began  to  feel  a  sym- 
pathetic thrill. 

"Did  you  look  out  of  the  window,  sir?"  she 
asked  in  a  hushed  voice. 

Her  master  nodded  and  pursed  his  lips. 

"But  you  didn't  see  him,  sir?" 

"No,"  said  he. 

"Who  could  it  have  been,  sir?" 

"I  have  been  wondering,"  he  said,  and  then  he 
threw  a  sudden  glance  at  her  that  made  her 
hurry  for  the  door.  It  was  not  that  it  was  an 
angry  look,  but  that  it  was  what  she  called  so 
"queer-like." 

Just  as  she  went  out  she  noted  another  queer- 
like  circumstance.  Mr.  Rattar  had  stretched  out 
his  hand  towards  the  toast  rack  while  he  spoke. 
The  toast  stuck  between  the  bars,  and  she  caught 
a  glimpse  of  an  angry  twitch  that  upset  the  rack 
with  a  clatter.  Never  before  had  she  seen  the 
master  do  a  thing  of  that  kind. 

A  little  later  the  library  bell  called  her.  Mr. 
Rattar  had  finished  breakfast  and  was  seated 
beside  the  fire  with  a  bundle  of  legal  papers  on  a 
small  table  beside  him,  just  as  he  always  sat, 
absorbed  in  work,  before  he  started  for  his  office. 
The  master's  library  impressed  Mary  vastly.  The 
furniture  was  so  substantial,  new-looking,  and 


THE  PROCURATOR  FISCAL  21 

conspicuous  for  the  shininess  of  the  wood  and 
the  brightness  of  the  red  morocco  seats  to  the 
chairs.  And  it  was  such  a  tidy  room — no  litter 
of  papers  or  books,  nothing  ever  out  of  place,  no 
sign  even  of  pipe,  tobacco  jar,  cigarette  or  cigar. 
The  only  concession  to  the  vices  were  the  ornate 
ash  tray  and  the  massive  globular  glass  match 
box  on  the  square  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  they  were  manifestly  placed  there  for  the 
benefit  of  visitors  merely.  Even  they,  Mary 
thought,  were  admirable  as  ornaments,  and  she 
was  concerned  to  note  that  there  was  no  nice 
red-headed  bundle  of  matches  in  the  glass  match 
box  this  morning.  What  had  become  of  them  she 
could  not  imagine,  but  she  resolved  to  repair  this 
blemish  as  soon  as  the  master  had  left  the  house. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  go  gossiping  about  this 
fellow  who  came  into  the  garden,  last  night,"  he 
began. 

"Oh,  no,  sir!"  said  she. 

Simon  shot  her  a  glance  that  seemed  com- 
pounded of  doubt  and  warning. 

"As  procurator  fiscal,  it  is  my  business  to  in- 
quire into  such  affairs.  I'll  see  to  it." 

"Oh,  yes,  sir;  I  know,"  said  she.  "It  seemed 
so  impudent  like  of  the  man  coming  into  the 
fiscal's  garden  of  all  places!" 

Simon  grunted.  It  was  his  characteristic  reply 
when  no  words  were  absolutely  necessary. 

"That's  all,"  said  he,  "don't  gossip !  Remem- 
ber, if  we  want  to  catch  the  man,  the  quieter  we 
keep  the  better." 


22  SIMON 

Mary  went  out,  impressed  with  the  warning, 
but  still  more  deeply  impressed  with  something 
else.  Gossip  with  cook  of  course  was  not  to  be 
counted  as  gossip  in  the  prohibited  sense,  and 
when  she  returned  to  the  kitchen,  she  unburdened 
her  Highland  heart. 

"The  master's  no  himsel' !"  she  said.  "I  tell  you, 
Janet,  never  have  I  seen  Mr.  Rattar  look  the  way 
he  looked  at  breakfast,  nor  yet  the  way  he  looked 
in  the  library !" 

Cook  was  a  practical  person  and  apt  to  be  a 
trifle  unsympathetic. 

"He  couldna  be  bothered  with  your  blethering 
most  likely !"  said  she. 

"Oh,  it  wasna  that!"  said  Mary  rery  seriously. 
"Just  think  yoursel'  how  would  you  like  to  be 
watched  through  the  window  at  the  dead  of  night 
as  you  were  sitting  in  your  chair?  The  master's 
feared  of  yon  man,  Janet!" 

Even  Janet  was  a  little  impressed  by  her 
solemnity. 

"It  must  have  taken  something  to  make  silent 
Simon  feared!"  said  she. 

Mary's  voice  fell. 

"It's  my  opinion,  the  master  knows  more  than 
he  let  on  to  me.  The  thought  that  came  into  my 
mind  when  he  was  talking  to  me  was  just — 'The 
man  feels  he's  being  watched?  ' 

"Oh,  get  along  wi'  you  and  your  Hieland  fan- 
cies!" said  cook,  but  she  said  it  a  little  uncom- 
fortably. 


Ill 

THE   HEIR 

AT  9.45  precisely  Mr.  Ratter  arrived  at  his 
office,  just  as  he  had  arrived  every  morning  since 
his  clerks  could  remember.  He  nodded  curtly  as 
usual  to  his  head  clerk,  Mr.  Ison,  and  went  into 
his  room.  His  letters  were  always  laid  out  on 
his  desk  and  from  twenty  minutes  to  half  an  hour 
were  generally  spent  by  him  in  running  through 
them.  Then  he  would  ring  for  Mr.  Ison  and 
begin  to  deal  with  the  business  of  the  day.  But 
on  this  morning  the  bell  went  within  twelve  min- 
utes, as  Mr.  Ison  (a  most  precise  person)  noted 
on  the  clock. 

"Bring  the  letter  book,"  said  Mr.  Rattar. 
"And  the  business  ledger." 

"Letter  book  and  business  ledger?"  repeated 
Mr.  Ison,  looking  a  little  surprised. 

Mr.  Rattar  nodded. 

The  head  clerk  turned  away  and  then  paused 
and  glanced  at  the  bundle  of  papers  Mr.  Rattar 
had  brought  back  with  him.  He  had  expected 
these  to  be  dealt  with  first  thing. 

"About  this  Thomson  business — "  he  began. 

"It  can  wait." 

The  lawyer's  manner  was  peremptory  and  the 

23 


clerk  fetched  the  letter  book  and  ledger.  These 
contained,  between  them,  a  record  of  all  the 
recent  business  of  the  firm,  apart  from  public 
business  and  the  affairs  of  one  large  estate.  What 
could  be  the  reason  for  such  a  comprehensive 
examination,  Mr.  Ison  could  not  divine,  but  Mr. 
Rattar  never  gave  reasons  unless  he  chose,  and 
the  clerk  who  would  venture  to  ask  him  was  not 
to  be  found  on  the  staff  of  Silent  Simon. 

In  a  minute  or  two  the  head  clerk  returned 
with  the  books.  This  time  he  was  wearing  his 
spectacles  and  his  first  glance  through  them  at 
Mr.  Rattar  gave  him  an  odd  sensation.  The 
lawyer's  mouth  was  as  hard  set  and  his  eyes  were 
as  steady  as  ever.  Yet  something  about  his  ex- 
pression seemed  a  little  unusual.  Some  unex- 
pected business  had  turned  up  to  disturb  him, 
Mr.  Ison  felt  sure;  and  indeed,  this  seemed  cer- 
tain from  his  request  for  the  letter  book  and 
ledger.  He  now  noticed  also  the  cut  on  his  chin, 
a  sure  sign  that  something  had  interrupted  the 
orderly  tenor  of  Simon  Rattar's  life,  if  ever  there 
was  one.  Mr.  Ison  tried  to  guess  whose  business 
could  have  taken  such  a  turn  as  to  make  Silent 
Simon  cut  himself  with  his  razor,  but  though  he 
had  many  virtues,  imagination  was  not  among 
them  and  he  had  to  confess  that  it  was  fairly 
beyond  James  Ison. 

And  yet,  curiously  enough,  his  one  remark  to 
a  fellow  clerk  was  not  unlike  the  comment  of  the 
imaginative  Mary  MacLean. 

"The  boss  has  a  kin'  of  unusual  look  to-day. 


THE  HEIR  25 

There  was  something  kin'  of  suspicious  in  that 
eye  of  his — rather  as  though  he  thought  someone 
was  watching  him." 

Mr.  Rattar  had  been  busy  with  the  books  for 
some  twenty  minutes  when  his  head  clerk  re- 
turned. 

"Mr.  Malcolm  Cromarty  to  see  you,  sir,"  he 
said. 

Silent  Simon  looked  at  him  hard,  and  it  was 
evident  to  his  clerk  that  his  mind  had  been  ex- 
traordinarily absorbed,  for  he  simply  repeated  in 
a  curious  way : 

"Mr.  Malcolm  Cromarty?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Ison,  and  then  as  even 
this  seemed  scarcely  to  be  comprehended,  he 
added,  "Sir  Reginald's  cousin." 

"Ah,  of  course!"  said  Mr.  Rattar.  "Well,  show 
him  in." 

The  young  man  who  entered  was  evidently  con- 
scious of  being  a  superior  person.  From  the 
waviness  of  his  hair  and  the  studied  negligence 
of  his  tie  (heliotrope  with  a  design  in  old  gold), 
it  seemed  probable  that  he  had  literary  or  artistic 
claims  to  be  superior  to  the  herd.  And  from  the 
deference  with  which  Mr.  Ison  had  pronounced 
his  name  and  his  own  slightly  condescending  man- 
ner, it  appeared  that  he  felt  himself  in  other  re- 
spects superior  to  Mr.  Rattar.  He  was  of  me- 
dium height,  slender,  and  dark-haired.  His  fea- 
tures were  remarkably  regular,  and  though  his 
face  was  somewhat  small,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
that  he  was  extremely  good  looking,  especially 


£6  SIMON 

to  a  woman's  eye,  who  would  be  more  apt  than 
a  fellow  man  to  condone  something  a  little  super- 
cilious in  his  smile. 

The  attire  of  Mr.  Malcolm  Cromarty  was  that 
of  the  man  of  fashion  dressed  for  the  country, 
with  the  single  exception  of  the  tie  which  in- 
timated to  the  discerning  that  here  was  no  young 
man  of  fashion  merely,  but  likewise  a  young  man 
of  ideas.  That  he  had  written,  or  at  least  was 
going  to  write,  or  else  that  he  painted  or  was 
about  to  paint,  was  quite  manifest.  The  indica- 
tions, however,  were  not  sufficiently  pronounced 
to  permit  one  to  suspect  him  of  fiddling,  or  even 
of  being  about  to  fiddle. 

This  young  gentleman's  manner  as  he  shook 
hands  with  the  lawyer  and  then  took  a  chair  was 
on  the  surface  cheerful  and  politely  condescend- 
ing. Yet  after  his  first  greeting,  and  when  he 
was  seated  under  Simon's  inscrutable  eye,  there 
stole  into  his  own  a  hint  of  quite  another  emo- 
tion. If  ever  an  eye  revealed  apprehension  it 
was  Malcolm  Cromarty's  at  that  instant. 

"Well,  Mr.  Rattar,  here  I  am  again,  you  see," 
said  he  with  a  little  laugh;  but  it  was  not  quite 
a  spontaneous  laugh. 

"I  see,  Mr.  Cromarty,"  said  Simon  laconically. 

"You  have  been  expecting  to  hear  from  me 
before,  I  suppose,"  the  young  man  went  on,  "but 
the  fact  is  I've  had  an  idea  for  a  story  and  I've 
been  devilish  busy  sketching  it  out." 

Simon  grunted  and  gave  a  little  nod.     One 


THE  HEIR  27 

would  say  that  he  was  studying  his  visitor  with 
exceptional  attention. 

"Ideas  come  to  one  at  the  most  inconvenient 
times,"  the  young  author  explained  with  a  smile, 
and  yet  with  a  certain  hurried  utterance  not 
usually  associated  with  smiles,  "one  just  has  to 
shoot  the  bird  when  he  happens  to  come  over 
your  head,  don't  you  know,  you  can't  send  in 
beaters  after  that  kind  of  fowl,  Mr.  Rattar.  And 
when  he  does  come  out,  there  you  are !  You  have 
to  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines." 

Again  the  lawyer  nodded,  and  again  he  made 
no  remark.  The  apprehension  in  his  visitor's  eye 
increased,  his  smile  died  away,  and  suddenly  he 
exclaimed : 

"For  God's  sake,  Mr.  Rattar,  say  something! 
I  meant  honestly  to  pay  you  back — I  felt  sure  I 
could  sell  that  last  thing  of  mine  before  now, 
but  not  a  word  yet  from  the  editor  I  sent  it  to !" 

Still  there  came  only  a  guarded  grunt  from 
Simon  and  the  young  man  went  on  with  increas- 
ing agitation. 

"You  won't  give  me  away  to  Sir  Reginald, 
will  you?  He's  been  damned  crusty  with  me 
lately  about  money  matters,  as  it  is.  If  you 

make  me  desperate !"  He  broke  off  and 

gazed  dramatically  into  space  for  a  moment,  and 
then  less  dramatically  at  his  lawyer. 

Silent  Simon  was  proverbially  cautious,  but 
it  seemed  to  his  visitor  that  his  demeanour  this 
morning  exceeded  all  reasonable  limits.  For 


28  SIMON 

nearly  a  minute  he  answered  absolutely  nothing, 
and  then  he  said  very  slowly  and  deliberately: 

"I  think  it  would  be  better,  Mr.  Cromarty,  if 
you  gave  me  a  brief,  explicit  statement  of  how 
you  got  into  this  mess." 

"Dash  it,  you  know  too  well — "  began  Crom- 
arty. 

"It  would  make  you  realise  your  own  position 
more  clearly,"  interrupted  the  lawyer.  "You 
want  me  to  assist  you,  I  take  it?" 

"Rather— if  you  will!" 

"Well  then,  please  do  as  I  ask  you.  You  had 
better  start  at  the  beginning  of  your  relations 
with  Sir  Reginald." 

Malcolm  Cromarty's  face  expressed  surprise, 
but  the  lawyer's  was  distinctly  less  severe,  and 
he  began  readily  enough: 

"Well,  of  course,  as  you  know,  my  cousin 
Charles  Cromarty  died  about  18  months  ago  and 
I  became  the  heir  to  the  baronetcy—  "  he  broke 
off  and  asked,  "Do  you  mean  you  want  we  to  go 
over  all  that?" 

Simon  nodded,  and  he  went  on: 

"Sir  Reginald  was  devilish  good  at  first— 
in  his  own  patronising  way,  let  me  stay  at  Kel- 
dale  as  often  and  as  long  as  I  liked,  made  me  an 
allowance  and  so  on;  but  there  was  always  this 
fuss  about  my  taking  up  something  a  little  more 
conventional  than  literature.  Ha,  ha!"  The 
young  man  laughed  in  a  superior  way  and  then 
looked  apprehensively  at  the  other.  "But  I  sup- 
pose you  agree  with  Sir  Reginald?" 


THE  HEIR  29 

Simon  pursed  his  lips  and  made  a  non-com- 
mittal sound. 

"Well,  anyhow,  he  wanted  me  to  be  called  to 
the  Bar  or  something  of  that  kind,  and  then 
there  was  a  fuss  about  money — his  ideas  of  an 
allowance  are  rather  old  fashioned,  as  you  know. 
And  then  you  were  good  enough  to  help  me  with 
that  loan,  and — well,  that's  all,  isn't  it?" 

Mr.  Rattar  had  been  listening  with  extreme 
attention.  He  now  nodded,  and  a  smile  for  a 
moment  seemed  to  light  his  chilly  eyes. 

"I  see  that  you  quite  realise  your  position,  Mr. 
Cromarty,"  he  said. 

"Realise  it!"  cried  the  young  man.  "My  God, 
I'm  in  a  worse  hole—  "  he  broke  off  abruptly. 

"Worse  than  you  have  admitted  to  me?"  said 
Simon  quickly  and  again  with  a  smile  in  his  eye. 

Malcolm  Cromarty  hesitated,  "Sir  Reginald  is 
so  damned  narrow!  If  he  wants  to  drive  me  to 
the  devil — well,  let  him !  But  I  say,  Mr.  Rattar, 
what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

For  some  moments  Simon  said  nothing.  At 
length  he  answered: 

"I  shall  not  press  for  repayment  at  present." 

His  visitor  rose  with  a  sigh  of  relief  and  as  he 
said  good-bye  his  condescending  manner  returned 
as  readily  as  it  had  gone. 

"Good  morning  and  many  thanks,"  said  he, 
and  then  hesitated  for  an  instant.  "You  couldn't 
let  me  have  a  very  small  cheque,  just  to  be  going 
on  with,  could  you?" 

"Not  this  morning,  Mr.  Cromarty." 


80  SIMON 

Mr.  Cromarty's  look  of  despair  returned. 

"Well,"  he  cried  darkly  as  he  strode  to  the 
door,  "people  who  treat  a  man  in  my  position 
like  this  are  responsible  for — er—  — !"  The  bang- 
ing of  the  door  left  their  precise  responsibility 
in  doubt. 

Simon  Rattar  gazed  after  him  with  an  odd  ex- 
pression. It  seemed  to  contain  a  considerable 
infusion  of  complacency.  And  then  he  rang  for 
his  clerk. 

"Get  me  the  Cromarty  estate  letter  book,"  he 
commanded. 

The  book  was  brought  and  this  time  he  had 
about  ten  minutes  to  himself  before  the  clerk 
entered  again. 

"Mr.  Cromarty  of  Stanesland  to  see  you,  sir," 
he  announced. 

This  announcement  seemed  to  set  the  lawyer 
thinking  hard.  Then  in  his  abrupt  way  he  said : 

"Show  him  in." 


THE   MAN   FROM   THE   WEST 

MR.  RATTAR'S  second  visitor  was  of  a  different 
type.  Mr.  Cromarty  of  Stanesland  stood  about 
6  feet  two  and  had  nothing  artistic  in  his  appear- 
ance, being  a  lean  strapping  man  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  forty,  with  a  keen,  thin,  weather- 
beaten  face  chiefly  remarkable  for  its  straight 
sharp  nose,  compressed  lips,  reddish  eye-brows, 
puckered  into  a  slight  habitual  frown,  and  the 
fact  that  the  keen  look  of  the  whole  was  expressed 
by  only  one  of  his  eyes,  the  other  being  a  good 
imitation  but  unmistakeably  glass.  The  whole 
effect  of  the  face,  however,  was  singularly  pleas- 
ing to  the  discerning  critic.  An  out  of  door,  reck- 
less, humorous,  honest  personality  was  stamped 
on  every  line  of  it  and  every  movement  of  the 
man.  When  he  spoke  his  voice  had  a  marked  tinge 
of  the  twang  of  the  wild  west  that  sounded  a  little 
oddly  on  the  lips  of  a  country  gentleman  in  these 
northern  parts.  He  wore  an  open  flannel  collar, 
a  shooting  coat,  well  cut  riding  breeches  and  im- 
maculate leather  leggings,  finished  off  by  a  most 
substantial  pair  of  shooting  boots.  Unlike  Mr. 
Malcolm  Cromarty,  he  evidently  looked  upon  his 
visit  as  expected. 

31 


32  SIMON 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Rattar,"  said  he,  throw- 
ing his  long  form  into  the  clients'  chair  as  he 
spoke.  "Well,  I  guess  you've  got  some  good  ad- 
vice for  me  this  morning." 

Simon  Rattar  was  proverbially  cautious,  but 
to-day  his  caution  struck  his  visitor  as  quite  re- 
markable. 

"Um,"  he  grunted.  "Advice,  Mr.  Cromarty? 
Umph!" 

"Don't  trouble  beating  about  the  bush,"  said 
the  tall  man.  "I've  been  figuring  things  out  my- 
self and  so  far  as  I  can  see,  it  comes  to  this:— 
that  loan  from  Sir  Reginald  put  me  straight  in 
the  meantime,  but  I've  got  to  cut  down  expense 
all  round  to  keep  straight,  and  I've  got  to  pay 
him  back.  Of  course  you  know  his  way  when  it's 
one  of  the  clan  he's  dealing  with.  'My  dear  Ned, 
no  hurry  whatever.  If  you  send  my  heir  a 
cheque  some  day  after  I'm  gone  it  will  have  the 
added  charm  of  surprise!'  Well,  that's  damned 
decent,  but  hardly  business.  I  want  to  get  the 
whole  thing  off  my  chest.  Got  the  statement 
made  up  ?" 

Simon  shook  his  head. 

"Very  sorry,  Mr.  Cromarty.  Haven't  had 
time  yet." 

"Hell!"  said  Mr.  Cromarty,  though  in  a  cheer- 
ful voice,  and  then  added  with  an  engaging  smile. 
"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Rattar.  I'm  trying  to  get  edu- 
cated out  of  strong  language,  but,  Lord,  at  my 
time  of  life  it's  not  so  damned — I  mean  dashed 
easy!" 


THE  MAN  FROM  THE  WEST  33 

Even  Simon  Rattar's  features  relaxed  for  an 
instant  into  a  smile. 

"And  who  is  educating  you?"  he  enquired. 

Mr.  Cromarty  looked  a  little  surprised. 

"Who  but  the  usual  lady?  Gad,  I've  told  you 
before  of  my  sister's  well  meant  efforts.  It's  a 
stiff  job  making  a  retired  cow  puncher  into  a 
high  grade  laird.  However,  I  can  smoke  without 
spitting  now,  which  is  a  step  on  the  road  towards 
being  a  Lord  Chesterfield." 

He  smiled  humorously,  stretched  out  his  long 
legs  and  added: 

"It's  a  nuisance,  your  not  having  that  state- 
ment ready.  When  I've  got  to  do  business  I  like 
pushing  it  through  quick.  That's  an  American 
habit  I  don't  mean  to  get  rid  of,  Mr.  Rattar." 

Mr.  Rattar  nodded  his  approval. 

"Certainly  not,"  said  he. 

"I've  put  down  my  car,"  his  visitor  continued. 

"Drive  a  buggy  now — beg  its  pardon,  a  trap, 
and  a  devilish  nice  little  mare  I've  got  in  her 
too.  In  fact,  there  are  plenty  of  consolations 
for  whatever  you  have  to  do  in  this  world.  I'm 
only  sofry  for  my  sister's  sake  that  I  have  to 
draw  in  my  horns  a  bit.  Women  like  a  bit  of 
a  splash — at  least  judging  from  the  comparative- 
ly little  I  know  of  'em." 

"Miss  Cromarty  doesn't  complain,  I  hope?" 

"Oh,  I  think  she's  beginning  to  see  the  neces- 
sity for  reform.  You  see,  when  both  my  civilised 

elder  brothers  died "  he  broke  off,  and  then 

added:  "But  you  know  the  whole  story." 


34  SIMON 

"I  would — er — like  to  refresh  my  memory," 
said  Simon;  and  there  seemed  to  be  a  note  of 
interest  and  almost  of  eagerness  in  his  voice  that 
appeared  to  surprise  his  visitor  afresh. 

"First  time  I  ever  heard  of  your  memory  need- 
ing refreshing!"  laughed  his  visitor.  "Well,  you 
know  how  I  came  back  from  the  wild  and  woolly 
west  and  tried  to  make  a  comfortable  home  for 
Lilian.  We  were  neither  of  us  likely  to  marry 
at  our  time  of  life,  and  there  were  just  the  two 
of  us  left,  and  we'd  both  of  us  knocked  about 
quite  long  enough  on  our  own,  and  so  why  not 
settle  down  together  in  the  old  place  and  be 
comfortable?  At  least  that's  how  it  struck  me. 
Of  course,  as  you  know,  we  hadn't  met  for  so 
long  that  we  were  practically  strangers  and  she 
knew  the  ways  of  civilisation  better  than  me, 
and  I  gave  her  a  pretty  free  hand  in  setting  up 
the  establishment.  I  don't  blame  her,  mind  you, 
for  setting  the  pace  a  bit  too  fast  to  last.  My 
own  blamed  fault  entirely.  However,  we  aren't 
in  a  very  deep  hole,  thank  the  Lord.  In  fact  if 
I  hadn't  got  to  pay  Sir  Reginald  back  the  .£1,200 
it  would  be  all  right,  so  far  I  can  figure  out. 
But  I  want  your  exact  statement,  Mr.  Rattar, 
and  as  quick  as  you  can  let  me  have  it." 

Simon  nodded  and  grunted. 

"You'll  get  it."  And  then  he  added:  "I  think 
I  can  assure  you  there  is  nothing  to  be  concerned 
about." 

Ned  Cromarty  smiled  and  a  reckless  light 
danced  for  a  moment  in  his  one  efficient  eye. 


THE  MAN  FROM  THE  WEST  35 

"I  guess  I  almost  wish  there  were  something 
to  be  concerned  about!  Sir  Reginald  is  always 
telling  me  I'm  the  head  of  the  oldest  branch  of 
the  whole  Cromarty  family  and  it's  my  duty  to 
live  in  the  house  of  my  ancestors  and  be  an  orna- 
ment to  the  county,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  But 
I  tell  you  it's  a  damned  quiet  life  for  a  man 
who's  had  his  eye  put  out  with  a  broken  whisky 
bottle  and  hanged  the  man  who  did  it  with  his 
own  hands!" 

"Hanged  him !"  exclaimed  the  lawyer  sharply. 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  merely  for  the  eye.  That  gave 
the  performance  a  kind  of  relish  it  would  other- 
wise have  lacked,  being  a  cold-blooded  ceremony 
and  a  little  awkward  with  the  apparatus  we  had. 
We  hanged  him  for  murder,  as  a  matter  of  fact. 
Now,  between  ourselves,  Mr.  Rattar,  we  don't 
want  to  crab  our  own  county,  but  you  must 
confess  that  real  good  serious  crime  is  devilish 
scarce  here,  eh?" 

Cromarty's  eye  was  gleaming  humorously, 
and  Simon  Rattar  might  have  been  thought  the 
kind  of  tough  customer  who  would  have  been 
amused  by  the  joke.  He  seemed,  however,  to  be 
affected  unpleasantly  and  even  a  little  startled. 

"I — I  trust  we  don't,"  he  said. 

"Well,"  his  visitor  agreed,  "as  it  means  that 
something  or  somebody  has  got  to  be  sacrificed 
to  start  the  sport  of  man-hunting,  I  suppose 
there's  something  to  be  said  for  the  quiet  life. 
But  personally  I'd  sooner  be  after  men  than 
grouse,  from  the  point  of  view  of  getting  thor- 


36  SIMON 

ough  satisfaction  while  it  lasts.  My  sister  says 
it  means  I  haven't  settled  down  properly  yet — 
calls  me  the  bold  bad  bachelor!" 

Through  this  speech  Simon  seemed  to  be  look- 
ing at  his  visitor  with  an  attention  that  bordered 
on  fascination,  and  it  was  apparently  with  a 
slight  effort  that  he  asked  at  the  end: 

"Well,  why  don't  you  marry?" 

"Marry!"  exclaimed  Ned  Cromarty.  "And 
where  will  you  find  the  lady  that's  to  succumb  to 
my  fascinations?  I'm  within  a  month  of  forty, 
Mr.  Rattar,  I've  the  mind,  habits,  and  appear- 
ance of  a  backwoodsman,  and  I've  one  working 
eye  left.  A  female  collector  of  antique  curiosi- 
ties, or  something  in  the  nature  of  a  retired 
wardress  might  take  on  the  job,  but  I  can't  think 
of  any  one  else!" 

He  laughed  as  he  spoke,  and  yet  something 
remarkably  like  a  sigh  followed  the  laugh,  and 
for  a  moment  after  he  had  ceased  speaking  his 
eye  looked  abstractedly  into  space. 

Before  either  spoke  again,  the  door  opened 
and  the  clerk,  seeing  Mr.  Rattar  was  still  en- 
gaged, murmured  a  "beg  pardon"  and  was  about 
to  retire  again. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  lawyer. 

"Miss  Farmond  is  waiting  to  see  you,  sir." 

"I'll  let  you  know  when  I'm  free,"  said  Simon. 

Had  his  eye  been  on  his  visitor  as  his  clerk 
spoke,  he  might  have  noticed  a  curious  commen- 
tary on  Mr.  Cromarty's  professed  lack  of  interest 
in  womankind.  His  single  eye  lit  up  for  an 


THE  MAN  FROM  THE  WEST     37 

instant  and  he  moved  sharply  in  his  chair,  and 
then  as  suddenly  repressed  all  sign  of  interest. 

A  minute  or  two  later  the  visitor  jumped  up. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  guess  you're  pretty  busy 
and  I've  been  talking  too  long  as  it  is.  Let  me 
have  that  statement  as  quick  as  you  like.  Good 
morning!" 

He  strode  to  the  door,  shut  it  behind  him,  and 
then  when  he  was  on  the  landing,  his  movements 
became  suddenly  more  leisurely.  Instead  of 
striding  downstairs  he  stood  looking  curiously 
in  turn  at  each  closed  door.  It  was  an  old 
fashioned  house  and  rather  a  rabbit  warren  of 
an  office,  and  it  would  seem  as  though  for  some 
reason  he  wished  to  leave  no  door  unwatched. 
In  a  moment  he  heard  the  lawyer's  bell  ring  and 
very  slowly  he  moved  down  a  step  or  two  while 
a  clerk  answered  the  call  and  withdrew.  And 
then  he  took  a  cigar  from  his  case,  bit  off  the 
end,  and  felt  for  matches;  all  this  being  very 
deliberately  done,  and  his  eye  following  the  clerk. 
Thus  when  a  girl  emerged  from  the  room  along 
a  passage,  she  met,  apparently  quite  accidentally, 
Mr.  Cromarty  of  Stanesland. 

At  the  first  glance  it  was  quite  evident  that  the 
meeting  gave  more  pleasure  to  the  gentleman 
than  to  the  lady.  Indeed,  the  girl  seemed  too 
disconcerted  to  hide  the  fact. 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Farmond,"  said  he  with 
what  seemed  intended  for  an  air  of  surprise;  as 
though  he  had  no  idea  she  had  been  within  a  mile 
of  him.  "You  coming  to  see  Simon  on  business 


38  SIMON 

too?"  And  then  taking  the  cue  from  her  con- 
strained manner,  he  added  hurriedly,  and  with 
a  note  of  dejection  he  could  not  quite  hide,  "Well, 
good-bye." 

The  girl's  expression  suddenly  changed,  and 
with  that  change  the  laird  of  Stanesland's  curi- 
ous movements  became  very  explicable,  for  her 
face  was  singularly  charming  when  she  smiled. 
It  was  a  rather  pale  but  fresh  and  clear-skinned 
face,  wide  at  the  forehead  and  narrowing  to  a 
firm  little  chin,  with  long-lashed  expressive  eyes, 
and  a  serious  expression  in  repose.  Her  smile 
was  candid,  a  little  coy  and  irresistibly  engaging, 
and  her  voice  was  very  pleasant,  rather  low,  and 
most  engaging  too.  She  was  of  middle  height 
and  dressed  in  mourning.  Her  age  seemed  rather 
under  than  over  twenty. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  hesitation  at 

first,  "I  didn't  mean "  She  broke  off, 

glanced  at  the  clerk,  who  being  a  discreet  young 
man  was  now  in  the  background,  and  then  with 
lowered  voice  confessed,  "The  fact  is,  Mr.  Cro- 
marty,  I'm  not  really  supposed  to  be  here  at  all. 
That's  to  say  nobody  knows  I  am." 

Mr.  Cromarty  looked  infinitely  relieved. 

"And  you  don't  want  anybody  to  know?"  he 
said  in  his  outspoken  way.  "Right  you  are.  I 
can  lie  low  and  say  nothing,  or  lie  hard  and  say 
what  you  like;  whichever  you  choose." 

"Lying  low  will  do,"  she  smiled.  "But  please 
don't  think  I'm  doing  anything  very  wrong." 

"I'll  think  what  you  tell  me,"  he  said  gallantly. 


THE  MAN  FROM  THE  WEST  89 

"I  was  thinking  Silent  Simon  was  in  luck's  way 
— but  perhaps  you're  going  to  wig  him?" 

She  laughed  and  shook  her  head. 

"Can  you  imagine  me  daring  to  wig  Mr.  Simon 
Rattar?" 

"I  guess  he  needs  waking  up  now  and  then 
like  other  people.  He's  been  slacking  over  my 
business.  In  fact,  I  can't  quite  make  him  out 
this  morning.  He's  not  quite  his  usual  self  for 
some  reason.  Don't  be  afraid  to  wig  him  if  he 
needs  it!" 

The  clerk  in  the  background  coughed  and  Miss 
Cicely  Farmond  moved  towards  the  door  of  the 
lawyer's  room,  but  Ned  Cromarty  seemed  reluc- 
tant to  end  the  meeting  so  quickly. 

"How  did  you  come?"  he  asked. 

"Walked,"  she  smiled. 

"Walked!    And  how  are  you  going  back?" 

"Walk  again." 

"I  say,"  he  suggested  eagerly,  "I've  got  my 
trap  in.  Let  me  drive  you!" 

She  hesitated  a  moment. 

"It's  awfully  good  of  you  to  think  of  it " 

"That's  settled  then.  I'll  be  on  the  look  out 
when  you  leave  old  Simon's  den." 

He  raised  his  cap  and  went  downstairs  this 
time  without  any  hesitation.  He  had  forgotten 
to  light  his  cigar,  and  it  was  probably  as  a 
substitute  for  smoking  that  he  found  himself 
whistling. 


THE  THIRD  VISITOR 

Miss  CICELY  FARMOND'S  air  as  she  entered 
Simon  Rattar's  room  seemed  compounded  of  a 
little  shyness,  considerable  trepidation,  and  yet 
more  determination.  In  her  low  voice  and  with 
a  fleeting  smile  she  wished  him  good  morning,  like 
an  acquaintance  with  whom  she  was  quite  famil- 
iar, and  then  with  a  serious  little  frown,  and 
fixing  her  engaging  eyes  very  straight  upon  him, 
she  made  the  surprising  demand : 

"Mr.  Rattar,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  honestly 
who  I  am." 

For  an  instant  Simon's  cold  eyes  opened  very 
wide,  and  then  he  was  gazing  at  her  after  his 
usual  silent  and  steadfast  manner. 

"Who  you  are?"  he  repeated  after  a  few  sec- 
onds' pause. 

"Yes.  Indeed,  Mr.  Rattar,  I  insist  on  know- 
ing!" 

Simon  smiled  slightly. 

"And  what  makes  you  think  I  can  assist  you 
to — er — recover  your  identity,  Miss  Farmond?" 

"To  discover  it,  not  recover  it,"  she  corrected. 

"Don't  you  really  know  that  I  am  honestly 
quite  ignorant?" 

40 


THE  THIRD  VISITOR  41 

Mr.  Rattar  shook  his  head  cautiously. 

"It  is  not  for  me  to  hazard  an  opinion,"  he 
answered. 

"Oh  please,  Mr.  Rattar,"  she  exclaimed,  "don't 
be  so  dreadfully  cautious !  Surely  you  can't  have 
thought  that  I  knew  all  the  time!" 

Again  he  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then 
enquired : 

"Why  do  you  come  to  me  now?" 

"Because  I  must  know!  Because — well,  be- 
cause it  is  so  unsatisfactory  not  knowing — for 
various  reasons." 

"And  why  are  you  so  positive  that  I  can  tell 
you?" 

"Because  all  my  affairs  and  arrangements 
went  through  your  hands,  and  of  course  you 
know!" 

Again  he  seemed  to  reflect  for  a  moment. 

"May  I  ask,  Miss  Farmond,"  he  enquired, 
"why,  in  that  case,  you  think  I  shouldn't  have 
told  you  before,  and  why — also  in  that  case — I 
should  tell  you  now?" 

This  enquiry  seemed  to  disconcert  Miss  Far- 
mond a  little. 

"Oh,  of  course  I  presume  Sir  Reginald  and 
you  had  some  reasons,"  she  admitted. 

"And  don't  you  think  then  we  have  them  still?" 

"I  can't  honestly  see  why  you  should  make  such 
a  mystery  of  it — especially  as  I  can  guess  the 
truth  perfectly  easily!" 

"If  you  can  guess  it "  he  began. 


42  SIMON 

"Oh  please  don't  answer  me  like  that!  Why 
won't  you  tell  me?" 

He  seemed  to  consider  the  point  for  a  moment, 
and  then  he  said: 

"I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  I  am  at  liberty  to 
tell  you,  Miss  Farmond,  without  further  con- 
sultation." 

"Has  Sir  Reginald  really  any  good  reasons  for 
not  telling  me?" 

"Have  you  asked  him  that  question?" 

"No,"  she  confessed.  "He  and  Lady  Cro- 
marty  have  been  so  frightfully  kind,  and  yet  so 
— so  reserved  on  that  subject,  that  I  have  never 
liked  to  ask  them  direct.  But  they  know  that  I 
have  guessed,  and  they  haven't  done  anything  to 
prevent  me  finding  out  more  for  myself,  which 
means  that  they  really  are  quite  willing  to  let 
me  find  out  if  I  can." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  require  more  authority 
than  that." 

She  pursed  her  lips  and  looked  at  the  floor 
in  silence,  and  then  she  rose. 

"Well,  if  you  absolutely  refuse  to  tell  me  any- 
thing, Mr.  Rattar,  I  suppose " 

A  dejected  little  shrug  completed  her  sentence, 
and  as  she  turned  towards  the  door  her  eloquent 
eyes  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  beneath  their 
long  lashes  with  an  expression  in  them  that  might 
have  moved  a  statue.  Although  Simon  Rattar 
had  the  reputation  of  being  impervious  to 
woman's  wiles,  he  may  have  been  moved  by  this 


THE  THIRD  VISITOR  43 

unspoken  appeal.  He  certainly  seemed  struck 
by  something,  for  even  as  her  back  was  turning 
towards  him,  he  said  suddenly,  and  in  a  distinctly 
different  voice: 

"You  say  you  can  guess  yourself?" 

She  nodded,  and  added  with  a  pathetic  coaxing 
note  in  her  low  voice: 

"But  I  want  to  know?' 

"Supposing,"  he  suggested,  "you  were  to  tell 
me  precisely  how  much  you  do  know  already,  and 
then  I  could  judge  whether  the  rest  might  or 
might  not  be  divulged." 

Her  face  brightened  and  she  returned  to  her 
chair  with  a  promptitude  that  suggested  she  was 
riot  unaccustomed  to  win  a  lost  battle  with  these 
weapons. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "it  was  only  six  months  ago 
— when  mother  died — that  I  first  had  the  least 
suspicion  there  was  any  mystery  about  me — any- 
thing to  hide.  I  knew  she  hadn't  always  been 
happy  and  that  her  trouble  had  something  to  do 
with  my  father,  simply  because  she  hardly  ever 
mentioned  him.  But  she  lived  at  Eastbourne 
just  like  plenty  of  other  widows  and  we  had  a 
few  friends,  though  never  very  many,  and  I  was 
rery  happy  at  school,  and  so  I  never  troubled 
much  about  things." 

"And  knew  nothing  up  till  six  months  ago?" 
asked  Simon,  who  was  following  her  story  very 
attentively. 

"Nothing  at  all.  Then,  about  a  month  after 
mother's  death,  I  got  a  note  from  you  asking  me 


44  SIMON 

to  go  up  to  London  and  meet  Sir  Reginald  Cro- 
marty.  I  had  never  even  heard  of  him  before! 
Well,  I  went  and  he  was  simply  as  kind  as- 
well,  as  he  always  is  to  everybody,  and  said  he 
was  a  kind  of  connection  of  my  family  and  asked 
me  to  pay  them  a  long  visit  to  Keldale." 

"How  long  ago  precisely  was  that?" 

She  looked  a  little  surprised. 

"Oh,  you  know  exactly.  Almost  just  four 
months  ago,  wasn't  it?" 

He  nodded,  but  said  nothing,  and  she  went  on : 

"From  the  very  first  it  had  seemed  very  strange 
that  I  had  never  heard  a  word  about  the  Cro- 
martys  from  mother,  and  as  soon  as  I  got  to 
Keldale  and  met  Lady  Cromarty,  I  felt  sure 
there  was  something  wrong.  I  mean  that  I 
wasn't  an  ordinary  distant  relation.  For  one 

w 

thing  they  never  spoke  of  our  relationship  and 
exactly  what  sort  of  cousins  we  were,  and  con- 
sidering how  keen  Sir  Reginald  is  on  his  pedi- 
gree and  all  his  relations  and  everybody,  that 
alone  made  me  certain  I  wasn't  the  ordinary 
kind.  That  was  obvious,  wasn't  it?" 

"It  seems  so,"  the  lawyer  admitted  cautiously. 

"Of  course  it  was !  Well,  one  day  I  happened 
to  be  looking  over  an  old  photograph  album  and 
suddenly  I  saw  my  father's  photograph !  Mother 
had  a  miniature  of  him — I  have  it  still,  and  I 
was  certain  it  was  the  same  man.  I  pulled  myself 
together  and  asked  Sir  Reginald  in  a  very  ordi- 
nary voice  who  that  was,  and  I  could  see  that 
both  he  and  Lady  Cromarty  jumped  a  little.  He 


THE  THIRD  VISITOR  45 

had  to  tell  me  it  was  his  brother  Alfred  and  I 
discovered  he  had  long  been  dead,  but  I  didn't  try 
to  get  any  more  information  from  them.  I  ap- 
plied to  Bisset." 

She  gave  a  little  laugh  and  looked  at  him  with 
a  touch  of  defiance.  His  inscrutable  countenance 
appeared  to  annoy  her. 

"Well?"  he  remarked. 

"Perhaps  you  think  I  oughtn't  to  have  gone 
to  a  butler  about  such  a  thing,  but  Bisset  is  prac- 
tically one  of  the  family  and  I  didn't  give  him 
the  least  idea  of  what  I  was  after.  I  simply  drew 
him  on  the  subject  of  the  Cromarty  family  history 
and  among  other  things — that  didn't  so  much  in- 
terest me — I  found  that  Mr.  Alfred  Cromarty 
was  never  married  and  seemed  to  have  had  rather 
a  gay  reputation." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  that 
would  have  immediately  converted  any  suscepti- 
ble man  into  a  fellow  conspirator,  and  asked  in 
her  most  enticing  voice: 

"Need  you  ask  what  I  guessed?  What  is  the 
use  in  not  telling  me  simply  whether  I  have 
guessed  right!" 

Silent  Simon's  face  remained  a  mask. 

"What  precisely  did  you  guess?" 

"That  my  mother  wasn't  married,"  she  said, 
her  voice  falling  very  low,  "and  I  am  really  Sir 
Reginald's  niece  though  he  never  can  acknowl- 
edge it — and  I  don't  want  him  to !  But  I  do  want 
to  be  sure.  Dear  Mr.  Rattar,  won't  you  tell 
me?" 


46  SIMON 

Dear  Mr.  Rattar  never  relaxed  a  muscle. 

"Your  guess  seems  very  probable,"  he  ad- 
mitted. 

"But  tell  me  definitely." 

"Why?"  he  enquired  coldly. 

"Oh,  have  you  no  curiosity  yourself — especially 
about  who  your  parents  were;  supposing  you 
didn't  know?" 

"Then  it's  only  out  of  curiosity  that  you  en- 
quired?" 

"Only!"  she  repeated  with  a  world  of  woman's 
scorn.  "But  what  sort  of  motives  did  you  expect  ? 
I  have  walked  in  the  whole  way  this  morning 
just  to  end  the  suspense  of  wondering!  Of 
course,  I'll  never  tell  a  soul  you  told  me." 

She  threw  on  him  a  moving  smile. 

"You  needn't  actually  tell  me  outright.  Just 
use  some  legal  word — 'Alibi'  if  I  am  right  and 
'forgery'  if  I'm  wrong!" 

Silent  Simon's  sudden  glance  chilled  her  smile. 
She  evidently  felt  she  had  been  taking  the  law 
in  vain. 

"I  only  meant "  she  began  anxiously. 

"I  must  consult  Sir  Reginald,"  he  interrupted 
brusquely. 

She  made  no  further  effort.  That  glance 
seemed  to  have  subdued  her  spirit. 

"I  am  sorry  I  have  bothered  you,"  she  said 
as  she  went. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  her,  Mr.  Rattar  took 
out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  his  brow  and  his 
neck.  And  then  he  fell  to  work  again  upon  the 


THE  THIRD  VISITOR  47 

recent  records  of  the  firm.  Yet,  absorbed  though 
he  seemed,  whenever  a  door  opened  or  shut  sharp- 
ly or  a  step  sounded  distinctly  outside  his  room, 
he  would  look  up  quickly  and  listen,  or  that  ex- 
pression would  come  into  his  eye  which  both  Mary 
MacLean  and  Mr.  Ison  had  described  as  the 
look  of  one  who  was  watched. 


VI 

AT  NIGHT 

WHEN  Simon  Rattar  came  to  his  present  villa, 
he  brought  from  his  old  house  in  the  middle  of  the 
town  (which  had  been  his  father's  before  him)  a 
vast  accumulation  of  old  books  and  old  papers. 
Being  a  man  who  never  threw  away  an  oppor- 
tunity or  anything  else,  and  also  a  person  of  the 
utmost  tidyness,  he  compromised  by  keeping  this 
litter  in  the  spare  rooms  at  the  top  of  the  house. 
In  fact  Simon  was  rather  pleased  at  discovering 
this  use  for  his  superfluous  apartments,  for  he 
hated  wasting  anything. 

On  this  same  morning,  just  before  he  started 
for  his  office,  he  had  again  called  his  housemaid 
and  given  her  particular  injunctions  that  these 
rooms  were  not  to  be  disturbed  during  the  day. 
He  added  that  this  was  essential  because  he  ex- 
pected a  gentleman  that  evening  who  would  be 
going  through  some  of  the  old  papers  with  him. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  vague  feeling  of  disquiet 
which  possessed  Mary  MacLean  this  morning 
that  made  his  injunction  seem  a  little  curious. 
She  had  been  with  the  master  three  years  and 
never  presumed  or  dreamt  of  presuming  to  touch 
his  papers.  He  might  have  known  that,  thought 

48 


AT  NIGHT  49 

she,  without  having  to  tell  her  not  to.  Indeed, 
she  felt  a  little  aggrieved  at  the  command,  and 
in  the  course  of  the  morning  she  made  a  discovery 
that  seemed  to  her  a  further  reflection  on  her 
discretion. 

When  she  came  to  dust  the  passage  in  which 
these  rooms  opened  her  eye  was  at  once  caught 
by  a  sheet  of  white  paper  pinned  to  each  of  the 
three  doors.  On  each  of  these  sheets  was  written 
in  her  master's  hand  the  words  "This  room  not 
to  be  entered.  Papers  to  be  undisturbed."  The 
result  was  a  warning  to  those  who  take  super- 
fluous precautions.  Under  ordinary  circum- 
stances Mary  would  never  have  thought  of  touch- 
ing the  handles  of  those  doors.  Now,  she  looked 
at  them  for  a  few  moments  and  then  tried  the 
handle  nearest  to  her.  The  door  wTas  locked. 
She  tried  the  second  and  the  third,  and  they  stood 
locked  too.  And  the  three  keys  had  all  been 
removed. 

"To  think  of  the  master  locking  the  doors!" 
said  she  to  herself  after  failing  at  each  in  turn. 
"As  if  I'd  have  tried  to  open  them!" 

That  top  storey  was  of  the  semi-attic  kind,  with 
roofs  that  sloped  and  a  sky-light  in  one  of  them 
and  the  slates  close  overhead.  It  was  a  grey 
windy  morning,  and  as  she  stood  there,  alone  in 
that  large  house  save  for  the  cook  far  away  in 
the  kitchen,  with  a  loose  slate  rattling  in  the 
gusts,  and  a  glimpse  of  clouds  driving  over  the 
sky-light,  she  began  all  at  once  to  feel  uncom- 
fortable. Those  locked  doors  were  uncanny — • 


50  SIMON 

something  was  not  as  it  should  be;  there  was  a 
sinister  moan  in  the  wind ;  the  slate  did  not  rattle 
quite  like  an  ordinary  slate.  Tales  of  her  child- 
hood, tales  from  the  superstitious  western  islands, 
rushed  into  her  mind.  And  then,  all  at  once, 
she  heard  another  sound.  She  heard  it  but  for 
one  instant,  and  then  with  a  pale  face  she  fled 
downstairs  and  stood  for  a  space  in  the  hall 
trembling  and  wondering. 

She  wondered  first  whether  the  sound  had 
really  come  from  behind  the  locked  doors,  and 
whether  it  actually  was  some  one  stealthily  mov- 
ing. She  wondered  next  whether  she  could  bring 
herself  to  confide  in  cook  and  stand  Janet's 
cheerful  scorn.  She  ended  by  saying  not  a 
word,  and  waiting  to  see  what  happened  when 
the  master  came  home. 

He  returned  as  usual  in  time  for  a  cup  of  tea. 
It  was  pretty  dark  by  then  and  Mary  was  up- 
stairs lighting  the  gas  (but  she  did  not  venture 
up  to  the  top  floor) .  She  heard  Mr.  Rattar  come 
into  the  hall,  and  then,  quite  distinctly  this  time, 
she  heard  overhead  a  dull  sound,  a  kind  of  gentle 
thud.  The  next  moment  she  heard  the  master 
running  upstairs,  and  when  he  was  safely  past 
she  ran  even  more  swiftly  down  and  burst  into 
the  kitchen. 

"There's  something  in  yon  top  rooms!"  she 
panted. 

"There's  something  in  your  top  storey!" 
snapped  cook;  and  poor  Mary  said  no  more. 

When  she  brought  his  tea  in  to  Mr.  Rattar, 


AT  NIGHT  51 

she  seemed  to  read  in  his  first  glance  at  her  the 
same  expression  that  had  disturbed  her  in  the 
morning,  and  yet  the  next  moment  he  was  speak- 
ing in  his  ordinary  grumpy,  laconic  way. 

"Have  you  noticed  rats  in  the  Louse?''  lie 
asked. 

"Rats,  sir!"  she  exclaimed.  "Oh,  no,  sir,  I 
don't  think  there  are  any  rats." 

"I  saw  one  just  now,"  he  said.  "If  we  see  it 
again  we  must  get  some  rat  poison." 

So  it  had  only  been  a  rat!  Mary  felt  vastly 
relieved ;  and  yet  not  altogether  easy.  One  could 
not  venture  to  doubt  the  master,  but  it  was  a 
queerlike  sound  for  a  rat  to  make. 

Mr.  Rattar  had  brought  back  a  great  many 
papers  to-day,  and  sat  engrossed  in  them  till 
dinner.  After  dinner  he  fell  to  work  again,  and 
then  about  nine  o'clock  he  rang  for  her  and  said : 

"The  gentleman  I  expect  this  evening  will 
probably  be  late  in  coming.  Don't  sit  up.  I'll 
hear  him  and  let  him  in  myself.  We  shall  be 
working  late  and  I  shall  be  going  upstairs  about 
those  papers.  If  you  hear  anybody  moving  about, 
it  will  only  be  this  gentleman  and  myself." 

This  was  rather  a  long  speech  for  silent  Simon, 
and  Mary  thought  it  considerate  of  him  to  explain 
any  nocturnal  sounds  beforehand ;  unusually  con- 
siderate, in  fact,  for  he  seldom  went  out  of  his  way 
to  explain  things.  And  yet  those  few  minutes  in 
his  presence  made  her  uncomfortable  afresh. 
She  could  not  keep  her  eyes  away  from  that 
red  cut  on  his  chin.  It  made  him  seem  odd-like, 


52  SIMON 

she  thought.  And  then  as  she  passed  through  the 
hall  she  heard  faintly  from  the  upper  regions  that 
slate  rattling  again.  At  least  it  was  either  the 
slate  or — she  recalled  a  story  of  her  childhood, 
and  hurried  on  to  the  kitchen. 

She  and  the  cook  shared  the  same  bed-room. 
It  was  fairly  large  with  two  beds  in  it,  and  along 
with  the  kitchen  and  other  back  premises  it  was 
shut  off  from  the  front  part  of  the  house  by  a 
door  at  the  end  of  the  hall.  Cook  was  asleep 
within  ten  minutes.  Mary  could  hear  her  heavy 
breathing  above  the  incessant  droning  and  whist- 
ling of  the  wind,  and  she  envied  her  with  all  her 
Highland  heart.  In  her  own  glen  people  would 
have  understood  how  she  felt,  but  here  she  dared 
not  confess  lest  she  were  laughed  at.  It  was 
such  a  vague  and  nameless  feeling,  a  sixth  sense 
warning  her  that  all  was  not  well;  that  something 
was  in  the  air.  The  longer  she  lay  awake  the 
more  certain  she  grew  that  evil  was  afoot;  and 
yet  what  could  be  its  shape?  Everything  in  that 
quiet  and  respectable  household  was  going  on 
exactly  as  usual;  everything  that  any  one  else 
would  have  considered  material.  The  little  things 
she  had  noticed  would  be  considered  absurd  trifles 
by  the  sensible.  She  knew  that  as  well  as  they. 

She  thought  she  had  been  in  bed  about  an 
hour,  though  the  time  passed  so  slowly  that  it 
might  have  been  less,  when  she  heard,  faintly 
and  gently,  but  quite  distinctly,  the  door  from 
the  hall  into  the  back  premises  being  opened.  It 
seemed  to  be  held  open  for  nearly  a  minute,  as 


AT  NIGHT  53 

though  some  one  were  standing  there  listening. 
She  moved  a  little  and  the  bed  creaked ;  and  then, 
as  gently  as  it  had  been  opened,  the  door  was 
closed  again. 

Had  the  intruder  come  through  or  gone  away? 
And  could  it  only  be  the  master,  doing  this  curi- 
ous thing,  or  was  it  some  one — or  something — 
else?  Dreadful  minutes  passed,  but  there  was 
not  a  sound  of  any  one  moving  in  the  back 
passage,  or  the  kitchen,  and  then  in  the  distance 
she  could  hear  the  grating  noise  of  the  front  door 
being  opened  and  the  rush  of  wind  that  accom- 
panied it.  It  was  closed  sharply  in  a  moment 
and  she  could  catch  the  sound  of  steps  in  the 
hall  and  the  master's  voice  making  some  remark. 
Another  voice  replied,  gruff  and  muffled  and 
indistinct,  and  then  again  the  master  spoke.  Evi- 
dently the  late  caller  had  arrived,  and  a  moment 
later  she  heard  the  library  door  shut,  and  it  was 
plain  that  he  and  Mr.  Rattar  were  closeted  there. 

They  seemed  to  remain  in  the  library  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  door  opened  again, 
and  in  a  moment  the  stairs  were  creaking  faintly. 
Evidently  one  or  both  were  going  up  for  the  old 
papers. 

All  this  was  exactly  what  she  had  been  led  to 
expect,  and  ought  to  have  reassured  her,  yet,  for 
no  reason  at  all,  the  conviction  remained  as  in- 
tense and  disturbing  as  ever,  that  something 
unspeakable  was  happening  in  this  respectable 
house.  The  minutes  dragged  by  till  quite  half 
an  hour  must  have  passed,  and  then  she  heard  the 


54  SIMON 

steps  descending.  They  came  down  very  slowly 
this  time,  and  very  heavily.  The  obvious  expla- 
nation was  that  they  were  bringing  down  one 
of  those  boxes  filled  with  dusty  papers  which 
she  had  often  seen  in  the  closed  rooms ;  yet  though 
Mary  knew  perfectly  that  this  was  the  common 
sense  of  the  matter,  a  feeling  of  horror  increased 
till  she  could  scarcely  refrain  from  crying  out. 
If  cook  had  not  such  a  quick  temper  and  such  a 
healthy  contempt  for  this  kind  of  fancy,  she 
would  have  rushed  across  to  her  bed;  but  as  it 
was,  she  simply  lay  and  trembled. 

The  steps  sounded  still  heavy  but  more  muffled 
on  the  hall  carpet,  though  whether  they  were  the 
steps  of  one  man  or  two  she  could  not  feel  sure. 
And  then  she  heard  the  front  door  open  again 
and  then  close;  so  that  it  seemed  plian  that  the 
visitor  had  taken  the  box  with  him  and  gone 
away.  And  with  this  departure  came  a  sense  of 
relief,  as  devoid  of  rational  foundation  as  the 
sense  of  horror  before.  She  felt  at  last  that  if 
she  could  only  hear  the  master  going  upstairs  to 
bed,  she  might  go  to  sleep. 

But  though  she  listened  hard  as  she  lay  there 
in  the  oppressive  dark,  she  heard  not  another 
sound  so  long  as  she  kept  awake,  and  that  was 
for  some  time,  she  thought.  She  did  get  off  at 
last  and  had  been  asleep  she  knew  not  how  long 
when  she  awoke  drowsily  with  a  confused  im-> 
pression  that  the  front  door  had  been  shut  again. 
How  late  it  was  she  could  but  guess — about  three 
or  four  in  the  morning  her  instinct  told  her.  But 


AT  NIGHT  55 

then  came  sleep  again  and  in  the  morning  the 
last  part  of  her  recollections  was  a  little  uncertain. 
At  breakfast  the  master  was  as  silently  formid- 
able as  ever  and  he  never  said  a  word  about  his 
visitor.  When  Mary  went  to  the  top  floor  later 
the  papers  were  off  the  doors  and  the  keys 
replaced. 


VII 

THE  DRIVE  HOME 

UNDER  the  grey  autumnal  sky  Miss  Cicely 
Farmond  drove  out  of  the  town  wrapped  in  Ned 
Cromarty's  overcoat.  He  assured  her  he  never 
felt  cold,  and  as  she  glanced  a  little  shyly  up  at 
the  strapping  figure  by  her  side,  she  said  to  her- 
self that  he  certainly  was  the  toughest  looking 
man  of  her  acquaintance,  and  she  felt  a  little  less 
contrition  for  the  loan.  She  was  an  independent 
young  lady  and  from  no  one  else  would  she  have 
accepted  such  a  favour,  but  the  laird  of  Stanes- 
land  had  such  an  off-hand  authoritative  way  with 
him  that,  somewhat  to  her  own  surprise,  she  had 
protested — and  submitted. 

The  trap  was  a  high  dog  cart  and  the  mare  a 
flier. 

"What  a  splendid  horse!"  she  exclaimed  as 
they  spun  up  the  first  hill. 

"Isn't  she?"  said  Ned.  "And  she  can  go  all 
the  way  like  this,  too." 

Cicely  was  therefore  a  little  surprised  when  at 
the  next  hill  this  flier  was  brought  to  a  walk. 

"I  thought  we  were  going  all  the  way  like 
that!"  she  laughed. 

56 


THE  DRIVE  HOME  57 

Ned  glanced  down  at  her. 

"Are  you  in  a  hurry?"  he  enquired. 

"Not  particularly,"  she  admitted. 

"No  more  am  I,"  said  he,  and  this  time  he 
smiled  down  at  her  in  a  very  friendly  way. 

So  far  they  had  talked  casually  on  any  indif- 
ferent subject  that  came  to  hand,  but  now  his 
manner  grew  a  little  more  intimate. 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  on  with  the  Cromartys 
long?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  wondering  myself,"  she  confessed. 

"I  hope  you  will,"  he  said  bluntly. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  say  so,"  she  said 
smiling  at  him  a  little  shyly. 

"I  mean  it.  The  fact  is,  Miss  Farmond,  you 
are  a  bit  of  a  treat." 

The  quaintness  of  the  phrase  was  irresistible 
and  she  laughed  outright. 

"Ami?" 

"It's  a  fact,"  said  he,  "you  see  I  live  an  odd 
lonely  kind  of  life  here,  and  for  most  of  my 
career  I've  lived  an  odd  lonely  kind  of  life  too, 
so  far  as  girls  were  concerned.  It  may  sound 
rum  to  you  to  hear  a  backwood  hunks  of  my  time 
of  life  confessing  to  finding  a  girl  of  your  age 
a  bit  of  a  treat,  but  it's  a  fact." 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "I  should  have  thought  I 
must  seem  rather  young  and  foolish." 

"Lord,  I  don't  mean  that!"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
mean  that  I  must  seem  a  pretty  uninteresting 
bit  of  elderly  shoe-leather." 


58  SIMON 

"Uninteresting?  Oh  no!"  she  cried  in  protest, 
and  then  checked  herself  and  her  colour  rose  a 
little. 

He  smiled  humorously. 

"I  can't  see  you  out  of  this  glass  eye  unless  I 
turn  round,  so  whether  you're  pulling  my  leg 
or  not  I  don't  know,  but  I  was  just  saying  to 
old  Simon  that  the  only  kind  of  lady  likely  to 
take  an  interest  in  me  was  a  female  collector  of 
antique  curiosities,  and  you  don't  seem  that  sort, 
Miss  Farmond." 

She  said  nothing  for  a  moment,  and  then  asked : 

"Were  you  discussing  ladies  then  with  Mr. 
Rattar?" 

He  also  paused  for  a  moment  before  replying. 

"Incidentally  in  the  course  of  a  gossip,  as  the 
old  chap  hadn't  got  my  business  ready  for  me. 
By  the  way,  did  you  get  much  change  out  of 
him?" 

She  shook  her  head  a  little  mournfully. 

"Nothing  at  all.  He  just  asked  questions 
instead  of  answering  them." 

"So  he  did  with  me!  Confound  the  man.  I 
fancy  he  has  made  too  much  money  and  is  be- 
ginning to  take  it  easy.  That's  one  advantage 
of  not  being  too  rich,  Miss  Farmond;  it  keeps 
you  from  waxing  fat." 

"I'm  not  likely  to  wax  fat  then!"  she  laughed, 
and  yet  it  was  not  quite  a  cheerful  laugh. 

He  turned  quickly  and  looked  at  her  sympa- 
thetically. 


THE  DRIVE  HOME  59 

"That  your  trouble?"  he  enquired  in  his  out- 
spoken way. 

Cicely  was  not  by  way  of  giving  her  confi- 
dences easily,  but  this  straight- forward,  friendly 
attack  penetrated  her  reserve. 

"It  makes  one  so  dependent,"  she  said,  her 
voice  even  lower  than  usual. 

"That  must  be  the  devil,"  he  admitted. 

"It  is!"  said  she. 

He  whipped  up  the  mare  and  ruminated  in 
silence.  Then  he  remarked: 

"I'm  just  wondering." 

Cicely  began  to  smile. 

"Wondering  what?" 

"What  the  devil  there  can  be  that  isn't  utterly 
uninteresting  about  me — assuming  you  weren't 
pulling  my  leg." 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "no  man  can  be  uninteresting 
who  has  seen  as  much  and  done  as  much  as  you 
have." 

"The  Lord  keep  you  of  that  opinion!"  he  said, 
half  humorously,  but  only  half,  it  seemed.  "It's 
true  I've  knocked  about  and  been  knocked  about, 
but  I'd  have  thought  you'd  have  judged  more  by 
results." 

She  laughed  a  little  low  laugh. 

"Do  you  think  yourself  the  results  are  very 
bad?" 

"Judging  by  the  mirror,  beastly !  Judging  by 
other  standards — well,  one  can't  see  one's  self  in 
one's  full  naked  horror,  thank  Heaven  for  it  too ! 
But  I'm  not  well  read,  and  I'm  not — but  what's 


60  SIMON 

the  good  in  telling  you?  You're  clever  enough 
to  see  for  yourself." 

For  a  man  who  had  no  intention  of  paying 
compliments,  Ned  Cromarty  had  a  singular  gift 
for  administering  the  pleasantest — because  it 
was  so  evidently  the  most  genuine — form  of  flat- 
tery. In  fact,  had  he  but  known  it,  he  was  a 
universal  favourite  with  women,  whenever  he 
happened  to  meet  them ;  only  he  had  not  the  least 
suspicion  of  the  fact — which  made  him  all  the 
more  favoured. 

"I  don't  know  very  many  men,"  said  Cicely, 
with  her  serious  expression  and  a  conscientious 
air,  "and  so  perhaps  I  am  not  a  good  judge,  but 
certainly  you  seem  to  me  quite  unlike  all  the 
others." 

"I  told  you,"  he  laughed,  "that  the  female 
would  have  to  be  a  bit  of  a  collector." 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  quite  serious  still,  "I  don't 
mean  that  in  the  least.  I  don't  like  freaks  a  bit 
myself.  I  only  mean — well,  people  do  differ  in 
character  and  experience,  don't  they?" 

"I  guess  you're  pretty  wise,"  said  he  simply. 
"And  I'm  sized  up  right  enough.  However,  the 
trouble  at  present  is  this  blamed  mare  goes  too 
fast!" 

On  their  left,  the  chimneys  and  roof  of  a  large 
mansion  showed  through  the  surrounding  trees. 
In  this  wind-swept  seaboard  country,  its  acres 
of  plantation  were  a  conspicuous  landmark  and 
marked  it  as  the  seat  of  some  outstanding  local 
magnate.  These  trees  were  carried  down  to  the 


THE  DRIVE  HOME  61 

road  in  a  narrow  belt  enclosing  an  avenue  that 
ended  in  a  lodge  and  gates.  At  the  same  time 
that  the  lodge  came  into  view  round  a  bend  in 
the  road,  a  man  on  a  bicycle  appeared  ahead  of 
them,  going  in  the  same  direction,  and  bent  over 
his  handle-bars  against  the  wind. 

"Hullo,  that's  surely  Malcolm  Cromarty !"  said 
Ned. 

"So  it  is!"  she  exclaimed,  and  there  was  a  note 
of  surprise  in  her  voice.  "I  wonder  where  he  has 
been." 

The  cyclist  dismounted  at  the  lodge  gates  a  few 
moments  before  the  trap  pulled  up  there  too,  and 
the  young  man  turned  and  greeted  them.  Or 
rather  he  greeted  Miss  Farmond,  for  his  smile 
was  clearly  aimed  at  her  alone. 

"Hullo!    Where  have  you  been?"  he  cried. 

"Where  have  you?"  she  retorted  as  she  jumped 
out  and  let  him  help  her  off  with  the  driving  coat. 

They  made  a  remarkably  good-looking  young 
couple  standing  together  there  on  the  road  and 
their  manner  to  one  another  was  evidently  that  of 
two  people  who  knew  each  other  well.  Sitting  on 
his  high  driving  seat,  Ned  Cromarty  turned  his 
head  well  round  so  as  to  bring  his  sound  eye  to 
bear  and  looked  at  them  in  silence.  When  she 
handed  him  his  coat  and  thanked  him  afresh,  he 
merely  laughed,  told  her,  in  his  outspoken  way, 
that  all  the  fun  had  been  his,  and  whipped  up 
his  mare. 

"That's  more  the  sort  of  fellow!"  he  said  to 
himself  gloomily,  and  for  a  little  the  thought 


62  SIMON 

seemed  to  keep  him  depressed.  And  then  as  lie 
let  the  recollections  of  their  drive  have  their  own 
way  undisturbed,  he  began  to  smile  again,  and 
kept  smiling  most  of  the  way  home. 

The  road  drew  ever  nearer  to  the  sea,  trees 
and  hedgerows  grew  even  rarer  and  more  stunted, 
and  then  he  was  driving  through  a  patch  of  plant- 
ing hardly  higher  than  a  shrubbery  up  to  an  an- 
cient building  on  the  very  brink  of  the  cliffs. 
The  sea  crashed  white  below  and  stretched  grey 
and  cold  to  the  horizon,  the  wind  whistled  round 
the  battlements  and  sighed  through  the  stunted 
trees,  and  Ned  (who  had  been  too  absorbed  to 
remember  his  coat)  slapped  his  arms  and  stamped 
his  feet  as  he  descended  before  a  nail-studded 
front  door  with  a  battered  coat  of  arms  above  it. 

"Lord,  what  a  place!"  he  said  to  himself,  half 
critically,  half  affectionately. 

The  old  castle  of  Stanesland  was  but  a  small 
house  as  castles,  or  even  mansions,  go,  almost 
devoid  of  architectural  ornament  and  evidently 

•• 

built  in  a  sterner  age  simply  for  security,  and  but 
little  embellished  by  the  taste  of  more  degenerate 
times.  As  a  specimen  of  a  small  early  15th  Cen- 
tury castle  it  was  excellent;  as  a  home  it  was 
inconvenience  incarnate.  How  so  many  draughts 
found  their  way  through  such  thick  walls  was  a 
perennial  mystery,  and  how  to  convey  dishes 
from  the  kitchen  to  the  dining  room  without  their 
getting  cold  an  almost  insoluble  problem. 

The  laird  and  his  sister  sat  down  to  lunch  and 
in  about  ten  minutes  Miss  Cromarty  remarked. 


THE  DRIVE  HOME  63 

"So  you  drove  Cicely  Farmond  home?" 

Her  brother  nodded.  He  had  mentioned  the 
fact  as  soon  as  he  came  in,  and  rather  wondered 
why  she  referred  to  it  again. 

Miss  Cromarty  smiled  her  own  peculiar  shrewd 
worldly  little  smile,  and  said : 

"You  are  very  silent,  Ned." 

Lilian  Cromarty  was  a  few  years  older  than 
her  brother;  though  one  would  hardly  have 
guessed  it.  Her  trim  figure,  bright  eyes,  vivacity 
of  expression  when  she  chose  to  be  vivacious,  and 
quick  movements  might  have  belonged  to  a 
woman  twenty  years  younger.  She  had  never 
been  pretty,  but  she  was  always  perfectly  dressed 
and  her  smile  could  be  anything  she  chose  to 
make  it.  Until  her  youngest  brother  came  into 
the  property,  the  place  had  been  let  and  she  had 
lived  with  her  friends  and  relations.  She  had 
had  a  good  time,  she  always  frankly  confessed, 
but  as  frankly  admitted  that  it  was  a  relief  to 
settle  down  at  last. 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  her  brother. 

"About  Cicely?"  she  asked  in  her  frankly 
audacious  way. 

He  opened  his  eyes  for  a  moment  and  then 
laughed. 

"You  needn't  guess  again,  Lilian,"  he  ad- 
mitted. 

"Funny  little  thing,"  she  observed. 

"Funny?"  he  repeated,  and  his  tone  brought 
an  almost  imperceptible  change  of  expression  into 
his  sister's  eye. 


64  SIMON 

"Oh,"  she  said  as  though  throwing  the  subject 
aside,  "she  is  nice  and  quite  pretty,  but  very 
young,  and  not  very  sophisticated;  is  she?  How- 
ever, I  should  think  she  would  be  a  great  success 
as  a  man's  girl.  That  low  voice  and  those  eyes 
of  hers  are  very  effective.  Pass  me  the  salt,  Ned." 

Ned  looked  at  her  in  silence,  and  then  over  her 
shoulder  out  through  the  square  window  set  in 
the  vast  thickness  of  the  wall,  to  the  grey  horizon 
line. 

"I  guess  you've  recommended  me  to  marry 
once  or  twice,  Lilian,"  he  observed. 

"Don't  'guess'  please!"  she  laughed,  "or  I'll 
stick  my  bowie  knife  or  gun  or  something  into 
you!  Yes,  I've  always  advised  you  to  marry — 
if  you  found  the  right  kind  of  wife." 

She  took  some  credit  to  herself  for  this  dis- 
interested advice,  since,  if  he  took  it,  the  conse- 
quences would  be  decidedly  disconcerting  to  her- 
self; but  she  had  never  pointed  out  any  specific 
lady  yet,  or  made  any  conspicuous  effort  to  find 
one  for  him. 

"Well "  he  began,  and  then  broke  off. 

"You're  not  thinking  of  Cicely,  are  you?"  she 
asked,  still  in  the  same  bright  light  way,  but 
with  a  quick  searching  look  at  him. 

"It  seems  a  bit  absurd.  I  don't  imagine  for  an 
instant  she'd  look  at  me." 

"Wouldn't  look !"  she  began  derisively, 

and  then  pulled  herself  up  very  sharply,  and 
altered  her  tactics  on  the  instant.  "She  might 


THE  DRIVE  HOME  65 

think  you  a  little  too  old  for  her,"  she  said  in  a 
tone  of  entire  agreement  with  him. 

"And  also  that  I've  got  one  too  few  eyes,  and 
in  fact  several  other  criticisms." 

His  sister  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"A  girl  of  that  age  might  think  those  things," 
she  admitted,  "but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  criti- 
cism ought  to  be  on  the  other  side.  Who  is 
she?" 

Ned  looked  at  her  and  she  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "I  suppose  we  both  have  a 
pretty  good  idea.  She's  somebody's  something — 
Alfred  Cromarty's,  I  believe;  though  of  course 
her  mother  may  have  fibbed,  for  she  doesn't  look 
much  like  the  Cromartys.  Anyhow  that  pretty 
well  puts  her  out  of  the  question." 

"Why?" 

"If  you  were  a  mere  nobody,  it  mightn't  make 
so  much  difference,  but  your  wife  must  have 
some  sort  of  a  family  behind  her.  One  needn't 
be  a  snob  to  think  that  one  mother  and  a  guess 
at  the  father  is  hardly  enough!"  •< 

"After  all,  that's  up  to  me.  I  wouldn't  be 
wanting  to  marry  her  great-mothers,  even  if 
she  had  any." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  again. 

"My  dear  Ned,  I'm  no  prude,  but  there's 
always  some  devilment  in  the  blood  in  these 
cases." 

"Rot!"  said  he. 

"Well,  rot  if  you  like,  but  I  know  more  than 
one  instance." 


66  SIMON 

He  said  nothing  for  a  moment  and  as  he  sat 
in  silence,  a  look  of  keen  anxiety  came  into  her 
eye.  She  hid  it  instantly  and  compressed  her 
lips,  and  then  abruptly  her  brother  said : 

"I  wonder  whether  she's  at  all  taken  up  with 
Malcolm  Cromarty!" 

She  ceased  to  meet  his  eye,  and  her  own  be- 
came expressionless. 

"They  have  spent  some  months  in  the  same 
house.  At  their  age  the  consequences  seem  pretty 
inevitable." 

She  had  contrived  to  suggest  a  little  more  than 
she  said,  and  he  started  in  his  chair. 

"What  do  you  know?"  he  demanded. 

"Oh,  of  course,  there  would  be  a  dreadful  row 
if  anything  was  actually  known  abroad.  Sir 
Reginald  has  probably  other  ideas  for  his  heir." 

"Then  there  is  something  between  them?" 

She  nodded,  and  though  she  still  did  not  meet 
his  eye,  he  accepted  the  nod  with  a  grim  look  that 
passed  in  a  moment  into  a  melancholy  laugh. 

"Well,"  he  said,  rising,  "it  was  a  pretty  absurd 
idea  anyhow.  I'll  go  and  have  a  look  at  myself 
in  the  glass  and  try  to  see  the  funny  side  of  it!" 

His  sister  sat  very  still  after  he  had  left  the 
room. 


VIII 

SIR,  REGINALD 

CICELY  FARMOND  and  Malcolm  Cromarty 
walked  up  the  avenue  together,  he  pushing  his 
bicycle,  she  walking  by  his  side  with  a  more  than 
usually  serious  expression. 

"Then  you  won't  tell  me  where  you've  been?" 
said  he. 

"You  won't  tell  me  where  you've  been!" 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment  and  then  said 
confidentially: 

"We  might  as  well  say  we've  been  somewhere 
together.  I  mean,  if  any  one  asks." 

"Thank  you,  I  don't  need  to  fib,"  said  she. 

"I  don't  mean  I  need  to.  Only "  he  seemed 

to  find  it  difficult  to  explain. 

"I  shall  merely  say  I  have  been  for  a  walk,  and 
you  need  only  say  you  have  been  for  a  ride — if 
you  don't  want  to  say  where  you  have  really 
been." 

"And  if  you  don't  want  to  mention  that  you 
were  driving  with  Ned  Cromarty,"  he  retorted. 

"He  only  very  kindly  offered  me  a  lift!" 

She  looked  quickly  at  him  as  she  spoke  and 
as  quickly  away  again.  The  glint  in  her  eye 
seemed  to  displease  him. 

67 


68  SIMON 

"You  needn't  always  be  so  sharp  with  me, 
Cicely,"  he  complained. 

"You  shouldn't  say  stupid  things." 

Both  were  silent  for  a  space  and  then  in  a  low 
mournful  voice  he  said: 

"I  wish  I  knew  how  to  win  your  sympathy, 
Cicely.  You  don't  absolutely  hate  me,  do  you?" 

"Of  course  I  don't  hate  you.  But  the  way  to 
get  a  girl's  sympathy  is  not  always  to  keep 
asking  for  it." 

He  looked  displeased  again. 

"I  don't  believe  you  know  what  I  mean!" 

"I  don't  believe  you  do  either." 

He  grew  tender. 

"Your  sympathy,  Cicely,  would  make  all  the 
difference  to  my  life!" 

"Now,  Malcolm "  she  began  in  a  warning 

voice. 

"Oh,  I  am  not  asking  you  to  love  me  again," 
he  assured  her  quickly.  "It  is  only  sympathy  I 
demand !" 

"But  you  mix  them  up  so  easily.  It  isn't  safe 
to  give  you  anything." 

"I  won't  again !"  he  assured  her. 

"Well,"  she  said,  though  not  very  sympatheti- 
cally, "what  do  you  want  to  be  sympathised  with 
about  now?" 

"When  you  offer  me  sympathy  in  that  tone,  I 
can't  give  you  my  confidence !"  he  said  unhappily. 

"Really,  Malcolm,  how  can  I  possibly  tell  what 
your  confidence  is  going  to  be  beforehand?  Per- 
haps it  won't  deserve  sympathy." 


SIR  REGINALD  69 

"If  you  knew  the  state  of  my  affairs!"  he  said 
darkly. 

"A  few  days  ago  you  told  me  they  were  very 
promising,"  she  said  with  a  little  smile. 

"So  they  would  be — so  they  are — if — if  only 
you  would  care  for  me,  Cicely!" 

"You  tell  me  they  are  promising  when  you 
want  me  to  marry  you,  and  desperate  when  you 
want  me  to  sympathise  with  you,"  she  said  a  little 
cruelly.  "Which  am  I  to  believe?" 

"Hush!    Here's  Sir  Reginald,"  he  said. 

The  gentleman  who  came  through  a  door  in 
the  walled  garden  beside  the  house  was  a  fresh- 
coloured,  white-haired  man  of  sixty;  slender  and 
not  above  middle  height,  but  very  erect,  and  with 
the  carriage  of  a  person  a  little  conscious  of  being 
of  some  importance.  Sir  Reginald  Cromarty 
was,  in  fact,  extremely  conscious  of  his  position 
in  life,  and  the  rather  superior  and  condescend- 
ing air  he  was  wont  to  assume  in  general  society 
made  it  a  little  difficult  for  a  stranger  to  believe 
that  he  could  actually  be  the  most  popular  per- 
son in  the  county;  especially  as  it  was  not  hard 
to  discover  that  his  temper  could  easily  become 
peppery  upon  provocation.  If,  however,  the 
stranger  chanced  to  provide  the  worthy  baronet 
with  even  the  smallest  opening  of  exhibiting  his 
extraordinary  kindness  of  heart — were  it  only  by 
getting  wet  in  a  shower  or  mislaying  a  walking 
stick,  he  would  quickly  comprehend.  And  the 
baronet's  sympathy  never  waited  to  be  sum- 


70  SIMON 

moned;  it  seemed  to  hover  constantly  over  all 
men  and  women  he  met,  spying  for  its  chance. 

He  himself  was  totally  unconscious  of  this 
attribute  and  imagined  the  respect  in  which  he 
was  held  to  be  due  to  his  lineage,  rank,  and 
superior  breeding  and  understanding.  Indeed, 
few  people  in  this  world  can  have  cut  a  more 
dissimilar  figure  as  seen  from  his  own  and  from 
other  men's  eyes;  though  as  both  parties  were 
equally  pleased  with  Sir  Reginald  Cromarty,  it 
mattered  little. 

At  the  sight  of  Cicely  his  smile  revealed  the 
warmth  of  his  feelings  in  that  direction. 

"Ah,  my  dear  girl,"  said  he,  "we've  been  look- 
ing for  you.  Where  have  you  been?" 

"I've  been  having  a  walk." 

She  smiled  at  him  as  she  answered,  and  on  his 
side  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  good  gentleman 
was  enraptured,  and  that  liss  Farmond  was  not 
likely  to  be  severely  cross-examined  as  to  her 
movements.  Towards  Malcolm,  on  the  other 
hand,  though  his  greeting  was  kindly  enough,  his 
eye  was  critical.  The  young  author's  tie  seemed 
to  be  regarded  with  particular  displeasure. 

"My  God,  Margaret,  imagine  being  found  dead 
in  such  a  thing!"  he  had  exclaimed  to  his  wife, 
after  his  first  sight  of  it;  and  time  had  done 
nothing  to  diminish  his  distaste  for  this  indica- 
tion of  a  foreign  way  of  life. 

Lady  Cromarty  came  out  of  the  garden  a 
moment  later;  a  dark  thin-faced  lady  with  a 
gracious  manner  when  she  spoke,  but  with  lips 


SIR  REGINALD  71 

,» 

that  were  usually  kept  very  tight  shut  and  an 
eye  that  could  easily  be  hard. 

"Nearly  time  for  lunch,"  she  said.  "You  two 
had  better  hurry  up !" 

The  young  people  hurried  on  to  the  house  and 
the  baronet  and  his  lady  walked  slowly  behind. 

"So  they  have  been  away  all  morning  together, 
Reginald,"  she  remarked. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  so,"  said  he.  "He  had  his 
bicycle  and  she  has  been  walking." 

"You  are  really  too  unsuspicious,  Reggie!" 

"A  woman,  my  dear,  is  perhaps  a  little  toe 
much  the  reverse  where  a  young  couple  is  con- 
cerned. I  have  told  you  before,  and  I  repeat  it 
now  emphatically,  that  neither  Cicely  nor  Mal- 
colm is  in  a  position  to  contemplate  matrimony 
for  an  instant." 

"He  is  your  heir — and  Cicely  is  quite  aware  of 
it." 

"I  assure  you,  Margaret,"  he  said  with  great 
conviction,  "that  Cicely  is  not  a  girl  with  mer- 
cenary motives.  She  is  quite  charming " 

"Oh,  I  know  your  opinion  of  her,  Reggie," 
Lady  Cromarty  broke  in  a  trifle  impatiently, 
"and  I  am  fond  of  her  too,  as  you  know.  Still, 
I  don't  believe  a  girl  who  can  use  her  eyes  so 
effectively  is  quite  as  simple  as  you  think." 

Sir  Reginald  laughed  indulgently. 

"Really,  my  love,  even  the  best  of  women  are 
sometimes  a  trifle  uncharitable!  But  in  any  case 
Malcolm  has  quite  enough  sense  of  his  future 
position  to  realise  that  his  wife  must  be  somebody 


72  SIMON 

without  the  blemish  on  her  birth,  which  is  no  fault 
of  dear  Cicely's,  but — er — makes  her  ineligible 
for  this  particular  position." 

"I  wish  I  could  think  that  Malcolm  is  the  kind 
of  young  man  who  would  consult  anything  but 
his  own  wishes.  I  have  told  you  often  enough, 
Reggie,  that  I  don't  think  it  is  wise  to  keep  these 
two  young  people  living  here  in  the  same  house 
for  months  on  end." 

"But  what  can  one  do?"  asked  the  benevolent 
baronet.  "Neither  of  them  has  any  home  of  their 
own.  Hang  it,  I'm  the  head  of  their  family  and 
I'm  bound  to  show  them  a  little  hospitality." 

"But  Malcolm  has  rooms  in  town.  He  needn't 
spend  months  on  end  at  Keldale." 

The  baronet  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  said: 

"To  tell  the  truth,  my  dear,  I'm  afraid  Mal- 
colm is  not  turning  out  quite  so  well  as  I  had 
hoped.  He  certainly  ought  to  be  away  doing 
something.  At  the  same  time,  hang  it,  you 
wouldn't  have  me  turn  my  own  kinsman  and  heir 
out  of  my  house,  Margaret ;  would  you  ?" 

Lady  Cromarty  sighed,  and  then  her  thin  lips 
tightened. 

"You  are  hopeless,  Reggie.  I  sometimes  feel 
as  though  I  were  here  merely  as  matron  of  a 
home  for  lost  Cromartys!  Well,  I  hope  your 
confidence  won't  be  abused.  I  confess  I  don't 
feel  very  comfortable  about  it  myself." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Sir  Reginald.  "My  own 
eyes  are  open  too,  I  assure  you.  I  shall  watch 


SIR  REGINALD  73 

them  very  carefully  at  lunch,  in  the  light  of  what 
you  have  been  saying." 

The  baronet  was  an  old  Etonian,  and  as  his 
life  had  been  somewhat  uneventful  since,  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  drawing  very  largely  on  his  recol- 
lections of  that  nursery  of  learning.  Lunch  had 
hardly  begun  before  a  question  from  Cicely  set 
him  going,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  meal  he  regaled 
her  with  these  reminiscences. 

After  luncheon  he  said  to  his  wife: 

"Upon  my  word,  I  noticed  nothing  whatever 
amiss.  Cicely  is  a  very  sensible  as  well  as  a 
deuced  pretty  girl." 

"I  happened  to  look  at  Malcolm  occasionally," 
said  she. 

Sir  Reginald  thought  that  she  seemed  to  imply 
more  than  she  said,,  but  then  women  were  like 
that,  he  had  noticed,  and  if  one  took  all  their 
implications  into  account,  life  would  be  a  trouble- 
some affair. 


IX 

A  PHILOSOPHER 

DURING  luncheon  an  exceedingly  efficient  per- 
son had  been  moving  briskly  behind  the  chairs. 
His  face  was  so  expressionless,  his  mouth  so 
tightly  closed,  and  his  air  of  concentration  on  the 
business  in  hand  so  intense,  that  he  seemed  the 
perfect  type  of  the  silent  butler.  But  as  soon  as 
lunch  was  over,  and  while  Cicely  still  stood  in 
the  hall  listening  with  a  dubious  eye  to  Malcolm's 
suggestion  of  a  game  of  billiards,  Mr.  James 
Bisset  revealed  the  other  side  of  his  personality* 
He  came  up  to  the  young  couple  with  just  suffi- 
cient deference,  but  no  more,  and  in  an  accent 
which  experts  would  have  recognised  as  the  hall 
mark  of  the  western  part  of  North  Britain,  said : 

"Excuse  me,  miss,  but  I've  mended  your  bicycle 
and  I'll  show  it  you  if  ye  like,  and  just  explain 
the  principle  of  the  thing." 

There  was  at  least  as  much  command  as  invi- 
tation in  his  tones.  The  billiard  invitation  was 
refused,  and  with  a  hidden  smile  Cicely  followed 
him  to  the  bicycle  house. 

Expert  knowledge  was  James  Bisset's  foible. 
Of  some  subjects,  such  as  buttling,  carpentry, 
and  mending  bicycles,  it  was  practical :  of  others, 

74 


A  PHILOSOPHER  75 

such  as  shooting,  gardening,  and  motoring,  it  was 
more  theoretical.  To  Sir  Reginald  and  my  lady 
he  was  quite  indispensable,  for  he  could  repair 
almost  anything,  knew  his  own  more  particular 
business  from  A  to  Z,  and  was  ready  at  any 
moment  to  shoulder  any  responsibility.  Sir  Reg- 
inald's keeper,  gardener,  and  chauffeur  were  apt 
however  to  be  a  trifle  less  enthusiastic,  Mr.  Bis- 
set's  passion  for  expounding  the  principles  of 
their  professions  sometimes  exceeding  his  tact. 

In  person,  he  was  an  active,  stoutly  built  man 
(though  far  too  energetic  to  be  fat),  with  blunt 
rounded  features,  eyes  a  little  protruding,  and 
sandy  hair  and  a  reddish  complexion  which  made 
his  age  an  unguessable  secret.  He  might  have 
been  in  the  thirties  or  he  might  have  been  in 
the  fifties. 

"With  regard  to  these  ladies'  bicycles,  miss- 
he  began  with  a  lecturer's  air. 

But  by  this  time  Cicely  was  also  an  expert  in 
side-tracking  her  friend's  theoretical  essays. 

"Oh,  how  clever  of  you!"  she  exclaimed  rap- 
turously. "It  looks  as  good  as  ever!" 

The  interruption  was  too  gratifying  to  offend. 

"Better  in  some  ways,"  he  said  complacently. 
"The  principle  of  these  things  is " 

"I  did  miss  it  this  morning,"  she  hurried  on. 
"In  fact  I  had  to  have  quite  a  long  walk.  Luckily 
Mr.  Cromarty  of  Stanesland  gave  me  a  lift  com- 
ing home." 

"Oh,  indeed,  miss?  Stanesland  gave  ye  a  lift, 
did  he?  An  interesting  gentleman  yon." 


76  SIMON 

This  time  she  made  no  effort  to  divert  Mr. 
Bisset's  train  of  thought. 

"You  think  Mr.  Cromarty  interesting,  then?" 
said  she. 

"They  say  he's  hanged  a  man  with  his  ain 
hands,"  said  Bisset  impressively. 

"What!"  she  cried. 

"For  good  and  sufficient  reason,  we'll  hope, 
miss.  But  whatever  the  way  of  it,  it  makes  a 
gentleman  more  interesting  in  a  kin'  of  way  than 
the  usual  run.  And  then  looking  at  the  thing 
on  general  principles,  the  theory  of  hanging 
is " 

"Oh,  but  surely,"  she  interrupted,  "that  isn't 
the  only  reason  why  Mr.  Cromarty — I  mean  why 
you  think  he  is  interesting?" 

"There's  that  glass  eye,  too.  That's  very  inter- 
esting, miss." 

She  still  seemed  unsatisfied. 

"His  glass  eye!  Oh — you  mean  it  has  a 
story?" 

"Vera  possibly.  He  says  himself  it  was  done 
wi'  a  wrhisky  bottle,  but  possibly  that's  making 
the  best  of  it.  But  what  interests  me,  miss,  about 
yon  eye  is  this " 

He  paused  dramatically  and  she  enquired  in 
an  encouraging  voice: 

"Yes,  Bisset?" 

"It's  the  principle  of  introducing  a  foreign 
substance  so  near  the  man's  brain.  What's  glass  ? 
What's  it  consist  of?" 

"I — I  don't  know,"  confessed  Cicely  weakly. 


A  PHILOSOPHER  77 

"Silica!  And  what's  silica?  Practically  the 
same  as  sand!  Well  now  if  ye  put  a  handful 
of  sand  into  a  man's  brain — or  anyhow  next  door 
to  it,  it's  bound  to  have  some  effect,  bound  to 
have  some  effect!" 

Bisset's  voice  fell  to  a  very  serious  note,  and 
as  he  was  famous  for  the  range  of  his  reading 
and  was  generally  said  to  know  practically  by 
heart  "The  People's  Self-Educator  in  Science 
and  Art,"  Cicely  asked  a  little  apprehensively: 

"But  what  effect  can  it  possibly  have?" 

"It  might  take  him  different  ways,"  said  the 
philosopher  cautiously  though  sombrely.  "But 
it's  a  good  thing,  anyway,  Miss  Farmond,  that 
the  laird  of  Stanesland  is  no  likely  to  get  mar- 
ried." 

"Isn't  he?"  she  asked,  again  with  that  encour- 
aging note. 

Bisset  replied  with  another  question,  asked  in 
an  ominous  voice: 

"Have  ye  seen  yon  castle  o'  his,  miss?" 

Cicely  nodded. 

"I  called  there  once  with  Lady  Cromarty." 

"A  most  interesting  place,  miss,  illustrating  the 
principle  of  thae  castles  very  instructively." 

Mr.  Bisset  had  evidently  been  studying  archi- 
tecture as  well  as  science,  and  no  doubt  would 
have  given  Miss  Farmond  some  valuable  informa- 
tion on  the  subject.  But  she  seemed  to  lack 
enthusiasm  for  it  to-day. 

"But  will  the  castle  prevent  him  marrying?" 
she  enquired  with  a  smile. 


78  SIMON 

"The  lady  in  it  will,"  said  the  philosopher  with 
a  sudden  descent  into  worldly  shrewdness. 

"Miss  Cromarty!    Why?" 

"She's  mair  comfortable  there  than  setting  off 
on  her  travels  again.  That's  a  fac',  miss." 

"But — but  supposing  he '  Cicely  began 

and  then  paused. 

"Oh,  the  laird's  no  the  marrying  sort  anyhow. 
He  says  to  me  himself  one  day  when  I'd  taken 
the  liberty  of  suggesting  that  a  lady  would  suit 
the  castle  fine — we  was  shooting  and  I  was  carry- 
ing his  cartridges,  which  I  do  for  amusement, 
miss,  whiles — 'Bisset,'  says  he,  'the  lady  will  have 
to  be  a  damned  keen  shot  to  think  me  worth  a 
cartridge.  I'm  too  tough  for  the  table/  says 
he,  'and  not  ornamental  enough  to  stuff.  They've 
let  me  off  so  far,  and  why  the  he — '  begging  your 
pardon,  miss,  but  Stanesland  uses  strong  expres- 
sions sometimes.  'Why  the  something,'  says  he, 
'should  they  want  to  put  me  in  the  bag  now? 
I'm  happier  free — and  so's  the  lady.'  But  he's 
a  grand  shot  and  a  vera  friendly  gentleman,  vera 
friendly  indeed.  It's  a  pity,  though,  he's  that 
ugly." 

"Ugly!"  she  exclaimed.  "Oh,  I  don't  think 
him  ugly  at  all.  He's  very  striking  looking.  I 
think  he  is  rather  handsome." 

Bisset  looked  at  her  with  a  benevolently  re- 
proving eye. 

"Weel,  miss,  it's  all  a  matter  of  taste,  but  to 
my  mind  Stanesland  is  a  fine  gentleman,  but  the 
vera  opposite  extreme  from  a  Venus."  He  broke 


A  PHILOSOPHER  79 

off  and  glanced  towards  the  house.  "Oh,  help 
us!  There's  one  of  thae  helpless  women  crying 
on  me.  How  this  house  would  get  on  wanting 

me !" 

He  left  Miss  Farmond  to  paint  the  gloomy 
picture  for  herself. 


X 

THE  LETTEtt 

IT  was  a  few  days  later  that  Cicely  looked  up 
from  the  local  paper  she  was  reading  and  asked : 

"Who  was  George  Rattar?" 

Sir  Reginald  laid  down  his  book  and  looked 
at  her  in  some  surprise. 

"George  Rattar?  What  do  you  know  about 
him?" 

"I  see  the  announcement  of  his  death.  'Son 
of  the  late  John  Simon  Rattar'  he's  called." 

"That's  Silent  Simon's  brother!"  exclaimed  Sir 
Reginald.  "Where  did  he  die  ?" 

"In  New  York,  it  says." 

Sir  Reginald  turned  to  his  wife. 

"We  can  hardly  send  our  sympathies  to  Simon 
on  this  bereavement!" 

"No,"  she  said  significantly.  "I  suppose  con- 
gratulations would  be  more  appropriate." 

The  baronet  took  the  paper  from  Cicely  and 
studied  it  himself. 

"Died  about  a  fortnight  ago,  I  see,"  he 
observed.  "I  wonder  whether  Simon  put  this 
announcement  in  himself,  or  whether  brother 
George  arranged  it  in  his  will?  It  would  be 
quite  like  the  fellow  to  have  this  posthumous 
wipe  at  Simon.  George  had  a  certain  sense  of 

80 


THE  LETTER  81 

humour — which  Simon  lacks.  And  there  was 
certainly  no  love  lost  between  them!" 

"Why  should  it  annoy  Mr.  Rattar?"  asked 
Cicely. 

"Because  brother  George  was  not  a  member  of 
his  family  he  would  care  to  be  reminded  of. 
Though  on  the  other  hand,  Simon  is  as  hard  as 
whinstone  and  has  as  much  sentiment  as  this 
teapot,  and  he  may  have  put  the  notice  in  himself 
simply  to  show  the  world  he  was  rid  of  the 
fellow." 

"What  was  George  Rattar  then?"  enquired 
Cicely. 

"He  was  once  Simon  Rattar's  partner,  wasn't 
he,  Reginald?"  said  Lady  Cromarty.  "And  then 
he  swindled  him,  didn't  he?" 

"Swindled  several  other  people  as  well,"  said 
Sir  Reginald,  "myself  included.  However,  the 
thing  was  hushed  up,  and  brother  George  dis- 
appeared. Then  he  took  to  forgery  on  his  own 
account  and  among  other  people's  signatures  he 
imitated  with  remarkable  success  was  Simon's. 
This  let  old  Simon  in  for  it  again  and  there  was 
no  hushing  it  up  a  second  time.  Simon  gave  evi- 
dence against  him  without  mercy,  and  since  then 
George  has  been  his  Majesty's  guest  for  a  num- 
ber of  years.  So  if  you  meet  Mr.  Simon  Rattar, 
Cicely,  you'd  better  not  tell  him  how  sorry  you 
are  to  hear  of  poor  George's  decease!" 

"I  wish  I  could  remember  him  more  distinct- 
ly," said  Lady  Cromarty.  "I'm  afraid  I  always 
mix  him  up  with  our  friend  Mr.  Simon." 


82  SIMON 

"It's  little  wonder,"  her  husband  replied. 
"They  were  twins.  George  was  the  one  with  a 
moustache;  one  knew  them  apart  by  that.  Ex- 
traordinary thing,  it  has  always  seemed  to  me, 
that  their  natures  should  have  been  so  different." 

"Perhaps,"  suggested  Cicely  compassionately, 
with  her  serious  air,  "it  was  only  that  George  was 
tempted." 

Sir  Reginald  laughed  heartily. 

"You  little  cynic!"  he  cried.  "You  mean  to 
insinuate  that  if  you  tempted  Simon,  he'd  be  as 
bad  a  hat  as  his  brother?" 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  Cicely.     "I  meant- 

"Tempt  him  and  see!"  chuckled  the  baronet. 
"And  we'll  have  a  little  bet  on  the  result!"  He 
was  glancing  at  the  paper  as  he  laughed,  and 
now  he  suddenly  stopped  laughing  and  exclaimed, 
"Hullo!  Here's  a  much  more  serious  loss  for 
our  friend.  Would  you  like  to  earn  £l,  Cicely?" 

"Very  much,"  said  she. 

"Well  then  if  you  search  the  road  very  care- 
fully between  Mr.  Simon  Rattar's  residence  and 
his  office  you  may  find  his  signet  ring  and  obtain 
the  advertised,  and  I  may  say  princely,  reward 
of  one  pound." 

"Only  a  pound!"  exclaimed  Lady  Cromarty, 
"for  that  handsome  old  ring  of  his?" 

"If  he  had  offered  a  penny  more,  I  should 
have  taken  my  business  out  of  his  hands!" 
laughed  Sir  Reginald.  "It  would  have  meant 
that  Silent  Simon  wasn't  himself  any  longer.  A 


THE  LETTER  83 

pound  is  exactly  his  figure;  a  respectable  sum, 
but  not  extravagant." 

"What  day  did  he  lose  it?"  asked  Cicely. 

"The  advertisement  doesn't  say." 

"He  wasn't  wearing  it "  Cicely  pulled  her- 
self up  sharply. 

"When?"  asked  Lady  Cromarty. 

"Where  can  I  have  seen  him  last?"  wondered 
Cicely  with  an  innocent  air. 

"Not  for  two  or  three  weeks  certainly,"  said 
Lady  Cromarty  decisively.  "And  he  can't  have 
lost  it  then  if  this  advertisement  is  only  just  put 
in." 

"No,  of  course  not,"  Cicely  agreed. 

"Well,"  said  Sir  Reginald,  "he'll  miss  his  ring 
more  than  his  brother!  And  remember,  Cicely, 
you  get  a  pound  for  finding  the  ring,  and  you 
win  a  pair  of  gloves  if  you  can  tempt  Simon  to 
stray  from  the  paths  of  honesty  and  virtue !  By 
Jingo,  I'll  give  you  the  gloves  if  you  can  even 
make  him  tell  a  good  sporting  lie!" 

When  the  good  baronet  was  in  this  humour 
no  man  could  excel  him  in  geniality,  and,  to  do 
him  justice,  a  kindly  temper  and  hearty  spirits 
were  the  rule  with  him  six  days  out  of  seven. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  was  easily  rufHed  and  his 
tempers  were  hot  while  they  lasted.  Upon  the 
very  next  morning  there  arose  on  the  horizon  a 
little  cloud,  a  cloud  that  seemed  at  the  moment 
the  merest  fleck  of  vapour,  which  upset  him,  his 
family  thought,  quite  unduly. 

It  took  the  form  of  a  business  letter  from  Mr. 


84  SIMON 

Simon  Rattar,  a  letter  on  the  surface  perfectly 
innocuous  and  formally  polite.  Yet  Sir  Reginald 
seemed  considerably  disturbed. 

"Damn  the  man!"  he  exclaimed  as  he  cast  it 
on  the  breakfast  table. 

"Reggie!"  expostulated  his  wife  gently. 
"What's  the  matter?" 

"Matter?"  snapped  her  husband.  "Simon 
Rattar  has  the  impudence  to  tell  me  he  is  letting 
the  farm  of  Castleknowe  to  that  fellow  Shearer 
after  all!" 

"But  why  not?  You  meant  to  some  time  ago, 
I  know." 

"Some  time  ago,  certainly.  But  I  had  a  long 
talk  with  Simon  ten  days  ago  and  told  him  what 
I'd  heard  about  Shearer  and  said  I  wouldn't 
have  the  fellow  on  my  property  at  any  price.  I 
don't  believe  the  man  is  solvent,  in  the  first  place ; 
and  in  the  second  place  he's  a  socialistic,  quarrel- 
some, mischievous  fellow!" 

"And  what  did  Mr.  Rattar  think?" 

"He  tried  to  make  some  allowances  for  the 
man,  but  in  the  end  when  he  saw  I  had  made 
up  my  mind,  he  professed  to  agree  with  me  and 
said  he  would  look  out  for  another  tenant.  Now 
he  tells  me  that  the  matter  is  settled  as  per  my 
instructions  of  the  8th.  That's  weeks  ago,  and 
not  a  word  does  he  say  about  our  conversation 
cancelling  the  whole  instructions !" 

"Then  Shearer  gets  the  farm?" 

"No,  he  doesn't!  I'm  dashed  if  he  does!  I 
shall  send  Mr.  Simon  a  letter  that  will  make  him 


THE  LETTER  85 

sit  up !  He's  got  to  alter  the  arrangement  some- 
how." 

He  turned  to  Malcolm  and  added: 

"When  your  time  comes,  Malcolm,  beware  of 
having  a  factor  who  has  run  the  place  so  long 
that  he  thinks  it's  his  own  property!  By  Gad, 
I'm  going  to  tell  him  a  bit  of  my  mind !" 

During  the  rest  of  breakfast  he  glanced  at  the 
letter  once  or  twice,  and  each  time  his  brows 
contracted,  but  he  said  nothing  more  in  presence 
of  Cicely  and  Malcolm.  After  he  had  left  the 
dining  room,  however,  Lady  Cromarty  followed 
him  and  said: 

"Don't  be  too  hasty  with  Mr.  Rattar,  Reggie ! 
After  all,  the  talk  may  have  slipped  his  memory." 

"Slipped  his  memory?  If  you  had  heard  it, 
Margaret,  you'd  know  better.  I  was  a  bit  cross 
with  him  for  a  minute  or  two  then,  which  I 
hardly  ever  am,  and  that  alone  would  make  him 
remember  it,  one  would  think.  We  talked  for 
over  an  hour  on  the  business  and  the  upshot  was 
clear  and  final.  No,  no,  he  has  got  a  bit  above 
himself  and  wants  a  touch  of  the  curb." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked. 

"I'm  going  to  send  in  a  note  by  car  and  tell 
him  to  come  out  and  see  me  about  the  business  at 
once." 

"Let  me  see  the  letter  before  you  send  it, 
Reggie." 

He  seemed  to  growl  assent,  but  when  she  next 
saw  him  the  letter  had  gone;  and  from  the  baro- 
net's somewhat  crusty  explanation,  she  suspected 


86  SIMON 

that  it  was  a  little  sharper  than  he  knew  she 
would  have  approved. 

When  the  car  returned  his  annoyance  was  in- 
creased again  for  a  space.  Mr.  Rattar  had  sent 
a  brief  reply  that  he  was  too  busy  to  come  out 
that  afternoon,  but  he  would  call  on  Sir  Reginald 
in  the  morning.  For  a  time  this  answer  kept  Sir 
Reginald  in  a  state  of  renewed  irritation,  and 
then  his  natural  good  humour  began  to  prevail, 
till  by  dinner  time  he  was  quite  calm  again,  and 
after  dinner  in  as  genial  humour  as  he  had  been 
in  the  day  before. 

He  played  a  game  of  pyramids  with  Cicely  and 
Malcolm  in  the  billiard  room,  and  then  he  and 
Cicely  joined  Lady  Cromarty  in  the  drawing 
room  while  the  young  author  went  up  to  his 
room  to  work,  he  declared.  He  had  a  large  bed- 
room furnished  half  as  a  sitting  room  where  he 
retired  each  night  to  compose  his  masterpieces  as 
soon  as  it  became  impossible  to  enjoy  Miss  Far- 
mond's  company  without  having  to  share  it  in 
the  drawing  room  with  his  host  and  hostess.  At 
least,  that  was  the  explanation  of  his  procedure 
given  by  Lady  Cromarty,  whose  eye  was  never 
more  critical  than  when  it  studied  her  husband's 
kinsman  and  heir. 

Lady  Cromarty's  eye  was  not  uncritical  also 
of  Cicely  at  times,  but  to-night  she  was  so  relieved 
to  see  how  Sir  Reginald's  temper  improved  under 
her  smiles  and  half  shy  glances,  that  she  let  her 
stay  up  later  than  usual.  Then  when  she  and  the 


THE  LETTER  87 

girl  went  up  to  bed,  she  asked  her  husband  if  he 
would  be  late. 

"The  magazines  came  this  morning,"  said  he. 
"I'd  better  sleep  in  my  dressing  room." 

The  baronet  was  apt  to  sit  up  late  when  he  had 
anything  to  read  that  held  his  fancy,  and  the  pro- 
cedure of  sleeping  in  his  dressing  room  was  com- 
monly followed  then. 

He  bade  them  good-night  and  went  off  towards 
the  library,  and  a  few  minutes  later,  as  they  were 
going  upstairs,  they  heard  the  library  door  shut. 

When  they  came  to  Lady  Cromarty's  room, 
Cicely  said  good-night  to  her  hostess  and  turned 
down  the  passage  that  led  to  her  own  bedroom. 
A  door  opened  quietly  as  she  passed  and  a  voice 
whispered : 

"Cicely!" 

She  stopped  and  regarded  the  young  author 
with  a  reproving  eye. 

"Is  anything  the  matter?"  she  asked. 

"I  just  wanted  to  speak  to  you!"  he  pleaded. 

"Now,  Malcolm,"  she  said  severely,  "y°u  know 
quite  well  that  Lady  Cromarty  trusts  us  not  to 
do  this  sort  of  thing!" 

"She's  in  her  room,  isn't  she?'* 

"What  does  that  matter?" 

"And  where's  Sir  Reginald?" 

"Still  in  the  library." 

"Sitting  up  late?" 

"Yes,  but  that  doesn't  matter  either.  Good 
night!" 


88  SIMON 

"Wait  just  one  minute,  Cicely!  Come  into  my 
room — I  won't  shut  the  door!" 

"Certainly  not!"  she  said  emphatically. 

"Well  then,  don't  speak  so  loudly!  I  must 
confide  in  you,  Cicely;  I'm  getting  desperate. 
My  position  is  really  serious.  Something's  got  to 
happen!  If  you  would  only  give  me  your  sym- 
pathy- 

"I  thought  you  were  writing,"  she  interrupted. 

"I've  been  trying  to,  but " 

"Well,  write  all  this  down  and  read  it  to  me 
to-morrow,"  she  smiled.  "Good  night!" 

"The  blame  be  on  your  head!"  began  the 
author  dramatically,  but  the  slim  figure  was 
already  moving  away,  throwing  him  a  parting 
smile  that  seemed  to  wound  his  sensitive  soul 
afresh. 


XI 

NEWS 

EVEN  in  that  scattered  countryside  of  long 
distances  by  windy  roads,  with  scarcely  ever  a 
village  as  a  focus  for  gossip,  news  flew  fast.  The 
next  morning  Ned  Cromarty  had  set  out  with  his 
gun  towards  a  certain  snipe  marsh,  but  while  he 
was  still  on  the  high  road  he  met  a  man  on  a 
bicycle.  The  man  had  heard  strange  news  and 
stopped  to  pass  it  on,  and  the  next  moment  Ned 
was  hurrying  as  fast  as  his  long  legs  could  take 
him  back  to  the  castle. 

He  saw  his  sister  only  for  a  moment. 

"Lilian!"  he  cried,  and  the  sound  of  his  voice 
made  her  start  and  stare  at  him.  "There's  a  story 
that  Sir  Reginald  was  murdered  last  night." 

"Murdered!"  she  repeated  in  a  low  incredulous 
voice.  "Ridiculous,  Ned!  Who  told  you?" 

"I  only  know  the  man  by  sight,  but  he  seemed 
to  believe  it  right  enough." 

"But  how— who  did  it?" 

Her  brother  shook  his  head. 

"Don't  know.  He  couldn't  tell  me.  My  God, 
I  hope  it's  not  true!  I'm  off  to  see." 

A  few  minutes  later  he  was  driving  his  mare 
headlong  for  his  kinsman's  house.  It  had  begun 

89 


90  SIMON 

to  rain  by  this  time,  and  the  mournful  wreaths 
of  vapour  that  swept  over  the  bare,  late  autumnal 
country  and  drove  in  fine  drops  against  his  face 
sent  his  spirits  down  ever  lower  as  the  mare 
splashed  her  way  along  the  empty  miles  of  road. 
The  melancholy  thrumming  of  the  telegraph 
wires  droned  by  his  side  all  the  while,  and  as 
this  dirge  waxed  for  the  moment  as  they  passed 
each  post,  his  eye  would  glance  grimly  at  those 
gaunt  poles.  Very  suitable  and  handy  for  a 
certain  purpose,  they  struck  him — if  by  any  pos- 
sibility this  tale  were  true. 

He  knew  the  worst  when  he  saw  Bisset  at  the 
door. 

"Thank  God,  you've  come,  sir,"  said  the  butler 
devoutly.  "The  master  would  have  expected  it 
of  you." 

"How  did  it  happen?  What  does  it  mean?  Do 
you  mean  to  say  it's  actually  truel" 

Bisset  shook  his  head  sombrely. 

"Ower  true,"  said  he.  "But  as  to  how  it  hap- 
pened, come  in  to  the  library,  sir.  It  was  in  his 
ain  library  he  was  killed !  The  Fiscal  and  Super- 
intendent is  there  now  and  we've  been  going  into 
the  circumstantial  evidence.  Most  extraordinary 
mystery,  sir — most  extraordinary!" 

In  the  library  they  found  Simon  Rattar  and 
Superintendent  Sutherland.  The  Superinten- 
dent was  a  big  burly  red-moustached  man;  his 
face  a  certificate  of  honesty,  but  hardly  of  the 
intellectual  type.  Ned  looked  round  him  appre- 
hensively for  something  else,  but  Bisset  said: 


NEWS  91 

"We've  taken  him  upstairs,  sir." 

For  a  moment  as  he  looked  round  that  spacious 
comfortable  room  with  its  long  bookcases  and 
easy  chairs,  and  on  the  tables  and  mantel-piece 
a  hundred  little  mementoes  of  its  late  owner,  the 
laird  of  Stanesland  was  unable  to  speak  a  word, 
and  the  others  respected  his  silence.  Then  he 
pulled  himself  together  sharply  and  asked: 

"How  did  it  happen?    Tell  me  all  about  it!" 

Perhaps  there  might  have  been  for  a  moment 
in  Simon's  eye  a  hint  that  this  demand  was  ir- 
regular, but  the  superintendent  evidently  took 
no  exception  to  the  intrusion.  Besides  being  a 
considerable  local  magnate  and  a  kinsman  of  the 
dead  baronet,  Stanesland  had  a  forcible  person- 
ality that  stood  no  gainsaying. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  superintendent,  "Mr. 
Rattar  could  perhaps  explain  best " 

"Explain  yourself,  Sutherland,"  said  Simon 
briefly. 

The  superintendent  pointed  to  a  spot  on  the 
carpet  a  few  paces  from  the  door. 

"We  found  Sir  Reginald  lying  there,"  he  said. 
"His  skull  had  been  fairly  cracked,  just  over 
the  right  eye,  sir.  The  blow  would  have  been 
enough  to  kill  him  I'd  think  myself,  but  there 
were  marks  in  his  neck  too,  seeming  to  show  that 
the  murderer  had  strangled  him  afterwards  to 
make  sure.  However,  we'll  be  having  the  medical 
evidence  soon.  But  there's  no  doubt  that  was 
the  way  of  it,  and  Mr.  Rattar  agrees  with  me." 

The  lawyer  merely  nodded. 


92  SIMON 

"What  was  it  done  with?" 

The  superintendent  pursed  his  lips  and  shook 
his  head. 

"That's  one  of  the  mysterious  things  in  the 
case,  sir.  There's  no  sign  of  any  weapon  in  the 
room.  The  fire  irons  are  far  too  light.  But  it 
was  an  unco'  heavy  blow.  There  was  little  bleed- 
ing, but  the  skull  was  fair  cracked." 

"Was  anything  stolen?" 

"That's  another  mystery,  sir.  Nothing  was 
stolen  anywhere  in  the  house  and  there  was  no 
papers  in  a  mess  like,  or  anything." 

"When  was  he  found?"  asked  Ned. 

"Seven-fifty  this  morning,  sir,"  said  Bisset. 
"The  housemaid  finding  the  door  lockit  came  to 
me.  I  knew  the  dining-room  key  fitted  this  door 
too,  so  I  opened  it — and  there  he  lay." 

"All  night,  without  any  one  knowing  he  hadn't 
gone  to  bed?" 

"That's  the  unfortunate  thing,  sir,"  said  the 
superintendent.  "It  seems  that  Sir  Reginald  had 
arranged  to  sleep  in  his  dressing  room  as  he  was 
going  to  be  sitting  up  late  reading." 

"Murderer  must  have  known  that,"  put  in 
Simon. 

"Almost  looks  like  it,"  agreed  the  superin- 
tendent. 

"And  nobody  in  the  house  heard  or  saw  any- 
thing?" 

"Nobody,  sir,"  said  the  superintendent. 

"That's  their  statement,"  added  the  lawyer  in 
his  driest  voice. 


NEWS  93 

"Was  anybody  sitting  up  late?" 

"Nobody  admits  it,"  said  the  lawyer,  again 
very  drily. 

"Thirteen,"  said  Bisset  softly. 

They  turned  towards  him,  but  it  seemed  that 
he  was  talking  to  himself.  He  was,  in  fact,  quiet- 
ly taking  measurements  with  a  tape. 

"Go  on,"  said  Cromarty  briefly. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  superintendent.  "The 
body  was  found  near  the  door  as  I  was  pointing 
out,  but  it's  a  funny  thing  that  a  small  table  had 
been  upset  apparently,  and  Bisset  tells  us  that 
that  table  stood  near  the  window." 

"Humph,"  grunted  Simon  sceptically. 

"I'm  quite  sure  of  it,  Mr.  Rattar,"  said  Bisset 
confidently,  looking  round  from  his  work  of 
measurement. 

"No  positive  proof  it  was  upset,"  said  the 
lawyer. 

"Did  you  find  it  upset?"  asked  Ned. 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head  emphatically  and 
significantly,  and  the  superintendent  agreed. 

"No,  it  was  standing  just  where  it  is  now  near 
the  wall." 

"Then  why  do  you  think  it  was  upset?" 

"I  picked  up  yon  bits  of  sealing  wax  and  yon 
piece  of  India  rubber,"  said  Bisset,  looking  round 
again.  "I  know  they  were  on  the  wee  table 
yesterday  and  I  found  them  under  the  curtain  in 
the  morning  and  the  table  moved  over  to  the 
wall.  It  follows  that  the  table  has  been  cowpit 
and  then  set  up  again  in  another  place,  and  the 


94 

other  things  on  it  put  back.    Is  that  not  a  fair 
deduction,  sir?" 

Ned  nodded  thoughtfully. 

"Seems  to  me  so,"  he  said. 

"It  seems  likely  enough,"  the  superintendent 
also  agreed.  "And  if  that's  the  case  there  would 
seem  to  have  been  some  kind  of  ongoings  near  the 
window." 

The  Procurator  Fiscal  still  seemed  uncon- 
vinced. 

"Nothing  to  go  on.  No  proper  evidence.  It 
leads  nowhere  definitely,"  he  said. 

"Well  now,"  continued  the  superintendent, 
"the  question  is — how  did  the  murderer  get  into 
the  room?  The  door  was  found  locked  and  the 
key  had  been  taken  away,  so  whether  he  had 
locked  it  from  the  inside  or  the  outside  \ve  can't 
tell.  There's  small  chance  of  finding  the  key,  I 
doubt,  for  a  key's  a  thing  easy  hidden  away." 

"So  he  might  have  come  in  by  the  door  and 
then  left  by  the  door  and  locked  it  after  him," 
said  Ned.  "Or  he  might  have  come  in  by  the 
window,  locked  the  door  and  gone  out  by  the 
window.  Or  he  might  have  come  in  by  the 
window  and  gone  out  by  the  door,  locking  it  after 
him.  Those  are  all  the  chances,  aren't  they?" 

"Indeed,  that  seems  to  be  them  all,"  said  the 
superintendent  with  a  note  of  admiration  for  this 
clear  exposition  that  seemed  to  indicate  he  was 
better  himself  at  details  than  deductions. 

"And  now  what  about  the  window?  Was  that 
open  or  shut  or  what?" 


NEWS  95 

"Shut  but  not  snibbed,  sir." 

Ned  turned  to  Bisset. 

"Did  Sir  Reginald  ever  forget  to  snib  the 
windows,  supposing  one  happened  to  be  open?" 

"Practically  never,  sir." 

"Last  thing  before  he  left  the  room,  I  sup- 
pose?" said  the  lawyer. 

The  butler  hesitated. 

"I  suppose  so,  sir,"  he  admitted,  "but  of  course 
I  was  never  here  to  see." 

"Exactly!"  said  Simon.  "Therefore  one  can 
draw  no  conclusions  as  to  whether  the  window 
had  been  standing  all  the  time  just  as  it  is  now,  or 
whether  it  had  been  opened  and  shut  again  from 
the  outside;  seeing  that  Sir  Reginald  was  pre- 
sumably killed  before  his  usual  time  for  looking 
to  the  windows." 

"Wait  a  bit!"  said  Ned.  "I  was  assuming  a 
window  had  been  open.  But  were  the  windows 
fastened  before  Sir  Reginald  came  in  to  sit  here 
last  thing?" 

"Certainly  they  were  that,"  said  the  butler 
emphatically. 

"It  was  a  mild  night,  he  might  have  opened 
one  himself,"  replied  the  Procurator  Fiscal.  "Or 
supposing  the  man  had  come  in  and  left  again 
by  the  door,  what's  more  likely  than  that  he 
unsnibbed  the  window  to  make  people  think  he 
had  come  that  way?" 

"He  would  surely  have  left  it  wide  open," 
objected  Ned. 

"Might  have  thought  that  too  obvious,"  re- 


96  SIMON 

plied  the  lawyer,  "or  might  have  been  afraid  of 
the  noise.  Unsnibbing  would  be  quite  enough  to 
suggest  entry  that  way." 

Ned  turned  his  keen  eye  hard  on  him. 

"What's  your  own  theory  then?" 

"I've  none,"  grunted  Simon.  "No  definite  evi- 
dence one  way  or  the  other.  Mere  guesses  are 


no  use." 


Ned  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  at  it 
carefully.  Then  he  threw  it  up  and  looked  out 
into  the  garden. 

"Of  course  you've  looked  for  footsteps  under- 
neath?" he  asked. 

"Naturally,"  said  Simon.  "But  it's  a  hard 
gravel  path  and  grass  beyond.  One  could  fancy 
one  saw  traces,  but  no  definite  evidence." 

The  window  was  one  of  three  together,  with 
stone  mullions  between.  They  were  long  win- 
dows reaching  down  nearly  to  the  level  of  the 
floor,  so  that  entrance  that  way  was  extremely 
easy  if  one  of  them  were  open.  Cromarty  got 
out  and  stood  on  the  sill  examining  the  middle 
sash. 

Simon  regarded  him  with  a  curious  caustic 
look  for  a  moment  in  his  eye. 

"Looking  for  finger  marks?"  he  enquired. 

"Yes,"  said  Ned.    "Did  you  look  for  them?" 

For  a  single  instant  the  Procurator  Fiscal 
seemed  a  little  taken  aback.  Then  he  grunted 
with  a  half  laugh : 

"Don't  believe  much  in  them." 

"Experienced  criminals,  that's  been  convicted 


NEWS  97 

before,  frequently  wears  gloves  for  to  prevent 
their  finger  prints  being  spotted,"  said  the  learned 
Bisset. 

Mr.  Rattar  shot  him  a  quick  ambiguous  glance, 
and  then  his  eyes  assumed  their  ordinary  cold 
look  and  he  said : 

"No  evidence  anybody  ever  opened  that  win- 
dow from  the  outside.  If  they  had,  Sir  Regi- 
nald would  have  heard  them." 

"Well,"  said  Ned,  getting  back  into  the  room, 
"there  are  no  finger  marks  anyhow." 

"The  body  being  found  near  the  door  certainly 
seems  to  be  in  favour  of  Mr.  Rattar's  opinion," 
observed  the  superintendent. 

"I  thought  Mr.  Rattar  had  formed  no  opinion 
yet,"  said  Cromarty. 

"No  more  I  have,"  grunted  the  lawyer. 

The  superintendent  looked  a  trifle  perplexed. 

"Before  Mr.  Cromarty  had  come  in,  sir,  I 
understood  you  for  to  say  everything  pointed 
to  the  man  having  come  in  by  the  door  and  hit 
Sir  Reginald  on  the  head  as  he  came  to  see  who 
it  was  when  he  heard  him  outside." 

"I  merely  suggested  that,"  said  Simon  Rattar 
sharply.  "It  fits  the  facts,  but  there's  no  definite 
evidence  yet." 

Ned  Cromarty  had  turned  and  was  frowning 
out  of  the  window.  Now  he  wheeled  quickly  and 
exclaimed : 

"If  the  murderer  came  in  through  the  window 
while  Sir  Reginald  was  in  the  room,  either  the 
window  was  standing  open  or  Sir  Reginald 


98  SIMON 

opened  it  for  him!  Did  Sir  Reginald  ever  sit 
with  his  window  open  late  at  night  at  this  time 
of  year?" 

"Never  once,  sir,"  said  Bisset  confidently. 
"He  likit  fresh  air  outside  fine  but  never  kept 
his  windies  open  much  unless  the  weather  was 
vera  propitious." 

"Then,"  said  Ned,  "why  should  Sir  Reginald 
have  opened  the  window  of  his  own  accord  to  a 
stranger  at  the  dead  of  night?" 

"Exactly!"  said  Mr.  Rattar.  "Thing  seems 
absurd.  He'd  never  do  it." 

"That's  my  own  opinion  likewise,  sir,"  put  in 
Bisset. 

"It's  only  common  sense,"  added  the  super- 
intendent. 

"Then  how  came  the  window  to  be  unfast- 
ened?" demanded  Ned. 

"I've  suggested  a  reason,"  said  Simon. 

"As  a  blind?    Sounds  to  me  damned  thin." 

Simon  Rattar  turned  away  from  him  with  an 
air  that  suggested  that  he  thought  it  time  to 
indicate  distinctly  that  he  was  in  charge  of  the 
case  and  not  the  laird  of  Stanesland. 

"That's  all  we  can  do  just  now,  Sutherland," 
he  said.  "No  use  disturbing  the  household  any 
longer  at  present." 

Cromarty  stepped  up  to  him  suddenly  and 
asked: 

"Tell  me  honestly !    Do  you  suspect  anybody?" 

Simon  shook  his  head  decidedly. 


NEWS  99 

"No  sufficient  evidence  yet.  Good  morning, 
Mr.  Cromarty." 

Ned  was  following  him  to  the  door,  his  lips 
compressed  and  his  eyes  on  the  floor,  when  Bisset 
touched  his  arm  and  beckoned  him  back. 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  he,  "but  could  you  not 
manage  just  to  stop  on  for  a  wee  bit  yet?" 

Ned  hesitated. 

"They  won't  be  wanting  visitors,  Bisset." 

"They  needn't  know  if  you  don't  want  them 
to,  sir.  Lady  Cromarty  is  shut  up  in  her  room, 
and  the  others  are  keeping  out  of  the  way.  If 
you  wouldn't  mind  my  giving  you  a  little  cold 
luncheon  in  my  sitting  room,  sir,  I'd  like  to  have 
your  help.  I'm  making  a  few  sma'  bits  of  inves- 
tigation on  my  own.  You're  one  of  the  family, 
sir,  and  I  know  you'll  be  wanting  to  find  out 
who  killed  the  master." 

Ned's  eye  flashed  suddenly. 

"By  God,  I'll  never  rest  in  this  world  or  the 
next  till  I  do!  All  right,  I'll  wait  for  a  bit." 


XII 

CICELY 

NED  CROMARTY  waited  in  the  hall  while  Bisset 
went  to  the  door  with  the  Procurator  Fiscal  and 
Superintendent  of  Police.  As  he  stood  there  in 
the  darkened  silence  of  the  house,  there  came  to 
his  ears  for  an  instant  the  faint  sound  of  a  voice, 
and  it  seemed  to  be  a  woman's.  With  that  the 
current  of  his  thoughts  seemed  to  change,  and 
when  Bisset  returned  he  asked,  though  with 
marked  hesitation: 

"Do  you  think,  Bisset,  I  could  do  anything  for 
any  of  them,  Mr.  Malcolm  Cromarty,  or — er — 
Miss  Farmond?" 

Bisset  considered  the  point  judicially.  It  was 
clear  he  felt  that  the  management  of  the  house- 
hold was  in  his  hands  now. 

"I  am  sure  Miss  Farmond  would  be  pleased, 
sir — poor  young  lady !" 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  said  Ned,  and  his 
manner  brightened  visibly.  "Well,  if  she  won't 
mind- 

"I  think  if  you  come  this  way,  sir,  you  will 
find  her  with  Sir  Malcolm." 

"Sir  Malcolm !"  exclaimed  Ned.  "My  God,  so 
he  is!" 

100 


CICELY  101 

To  himself  he  added : 

"And  she  will  soon  be  Lady  Cromarty!" 

But  the  thought  did  not  seem  to  exhilarate 
him. 

He  was  led  towards  the  billiard  room,  an  addi- 
tion to  the  house  which  lay  rather  apart.  The 
door  was  half  open  and  through  it  he  could  see 
that  the  blinds  had  been  drawn  down,  and  he 
could  hear  a  murmur  of  voices. 

"They  are  in  there,  sir,"  said  Bisset,  and  he 
left  him. 

As  Ned  Cromarty  entered  he  caught  the  words, 
spoken  by  the  new  baronet: 

"My  dear  Cicely,  I  depend  on  your  sympa- 
thy- 

He  broke  off  as  he  heard  a  footstep,  and 
seemed  to  move  a  little  apart  from  the  chair 
where  Cicely  was  sitting. 

The  two  young  people  greeted  their  visitor, 
Cicely  in  a  voice  so  low  that  it  was  scarcely  audi- 
ble, but  with  a  smile  that  seemed,  he  thought,  to 
welcome  him;  Sir  Malcolm  with  a  tragic  solem- 
nity which  no  doubt  was  quite  appropriate  to  a 
bereaved  baronet.  The  appearance  of  a  third 
party  seemed,  however,  to  afford  him  no  par- 
ticular gratification,  and  after  exchanging  a  sen- 
tence or  two,  he  begged,  in  a  very  serious  tone, 
to  be  excused,  and  retired,  walking  softly  and 
mournfully.  Ned  noticed  then  that  his  face  was 
extraordinarily  pale  and  his  eye  disturbed. 

"I  was  afraid  of  disturbing  you,"  said  Ned. 
He  was  embarrassed,  a  rare  condition  with  him, 


102  SIMON 

which,  when  it  did  afflict  him,  resulted  in  an 
impression  of  intimidating  truculence. 

Cicely  seemed  to  shrink  a  little,  and  he  re- 
solved to  leave  instantly. 

"Oh  no!"  she  said  shyly. 

"I  only  wanted  to  say  that  if  I  could  do  any- 
thing for  you — well,  you've  only  to  let  me  know." 

"It's  awfully  kind  of  you,"  she  murmured. 

There  was  something  so  evidently  sincere  in 
this  murmur  that  his  embarrassment  forthwith 
left  him. 

"Thank  Heaven!"  he  said  after  his  outspoken 
habit.  "I  was  afraid  I  was  putting  my  foot  in 
it.  But  if  you  really  don't  mind  my  seeing  you 
for  a  minute  or  two,  I'd  just  like  to  say- 
He  broke  off  abruptly,  and  she  looked  up  at 
him  questioningly. 

"Dash  it,  I  can't  say  it,  Miss  Farmond!  But 
you  know,  don't  you?" 

She  murmured  something  again,  and  though 
he  could  not  quite  hear  what  it  was,  he  knew  she 
understood  and  appreciated. 

Leaning  against  the  corner  of  the  shrouded 
billiard  table,  with  the  blinds  down  and  this  pale 
slip  of  a  girl  in  deep  mourning  sitting  in  a  basket 
chair  in  the  dim  light,  he  began  suddenly  to 
realise  the  tragedy. 

"I've  been  too  stunned  till  now  to  grasp  what's 
happened,"  he  said  in  a  moment.  "Our  best 
friend  gone,  Miss  Farmond!" 

He  had  said  exactly  the  right  thing  now. 

"He  certainly  was  mine !"  she  said. 


CICELY  103 

"And  mine  too.  We  may  live  to  be  a  brace  of 
Methuselahs,  but  I  guess  we'll  never  see  his  like 
again !" 

His  odd  phrase  made  her  smile  for  a  moment 
despite  herself.  It  passed  swiftly  and  she  said: 

"I  can't  believe  it  yet." 

Again  there  was  silence,  and  then  he  said 
abruptly : 

"It's  little  wonder  you  can't  believe  it.  The 
thing  is  so  extraordinary.  It's  incredible.  A  man 
without  an  enemy  in  the  world — no  robbery  at- 
tempted— sitting  in  his  own  library — in  just 
about  the  most  peaceful  and  out  of  the  way 
county  in  Scotland — not  a  sound  heard  by  any- 
body— not  a  reason  that  one  can  possibly  imag- 
ine— and  yet  murdered!" 

"But  it  must  have  been  a  robber  surely!" 

"Why  didn't  he  rob  something  then?" 

"But  how  else ?" 

"How  indeed !  You've  not  a  suspicion  of  any 
one  yourself,  Miss  Farmond?  Say  it  right  out 
if  you  have.  We  don't  lynch  here.  At  least," 
he  corrected  himself  as  he  recalled  the  telegraph 
posts,  "it  hasn't  been  done  yet." 

"I  can't  suspect  any  one!"  she  said  earnestly. 
"I  never  met  any  one  in  my  life  that  I  could 
possibly  imagine  doing  such  a  thing!" 

"No,"  he  said.  "I  guess  our  experiences  have 
been  pretty  different.  I've  met  lots,  but  then 
there  are  none  of  those  boys  here.  Who  is  there 
in  this  place?" 

He  paused  and  stared  into  space. 


104  SIMON 

"It  must  have  been  a  tramp — some  one  who 
doesn't  belong  here !" 

"I  was  trying  to  think  whether  there  are  any 
lunatics  about,"  he  said  in  a  moment.  "But 
there  aren't  any." 

There  was  silence  for  some  minutes.  He  was 
thinking;  she  never  moved.  Then  he  heard  a 
sound,  and  looking  down  saw  that  she  had  her 
handkerchief  in  her  hand.  He  had  nearly  bent 
over  her  before  he  remembered  Sir  Malcolm,  and 
at  the  recollection  he  said  abruptly : 

"Well,  I've  disturbed  you  too  long.  If  I  can 
do  anything — anything  whatever,  you'll  let  me 
know,  won't  you?" 

"You  are  very,  very  kind,"  she  murmured,  and 
a  note  in  her  voice  nearly  made  him  forget  the 
new  baronet.  In  fact,  he  had  to  retire  rather 
quickly  to  be  sure  of  himself. 

The  efficiency  of  James  Bisset  was  manifest 
at  every  conjuncture.  Businesslike  and  brisk  he 
appeared  from  somewhere  as  Cromarty  reached 
the  hall,  and  led  him  from  the  front  regions  to 
the  butler's  sitting  room. 

"I  will  bring  your  lunch  in  a  moment,  sir," 
he  murmured,  and  vanished  briskly. 

The  room  looked  out  on  a  courtyard  at  the  back, 
and  through  the  window  Ned  could  see  against 
the  opposite  buildings  the  rain  driving  in  clouds. 
In  the  court  the  wind  was  eddying,  and  beneath 
some  door  he  could  hear  it  drone  insistently. 
Though  the  toughest  of  men,  he  shivered  a  little 


CICELY  105 

and  drew  up  a  wicker  chair  close  in  front  of  the 
fire. 

"It's  incredible!"  he  murmured,  and  as  he 
stared  at  the  flames  this  thought  seemed  to  haunt 
him  all  the  time. 

Bisset  laid  the  table  and  another  hour  passed. 
Ned  ate  a  little  lunch  and  then  smoked  and  stared 
at  the  fire  while  the  wind  droned  and  blustered 
without  ceasing,  and  occasionally  a  cross  gust 
sent  the  rain  drops  softly  pattering  on  the  panes. 

"I'm  damned  if  I  see  a  thing!"  he  suddenly 
exclaimed  half  aloud,  and  jumped  to  his  feet. 

Before  he  had  time  to  start  for  the  door, 
Bisset's  mysterious  efficiency  was  made  manifest 
again.  Precisely  as  he  was  wanted,  he  appeared, 
and  this  time  it  was  clear  that  his  own  efforts  had 
not  been  altogether  fruitless.  He  had  in  fact  an 
air  of  even  greater  complacency  than  usual. 

"I  have  arrived  at  certain  conclusions,  sir,"  he 
announced. 


XIII 

THE  DEDUCTIVE  PROCESS 

BISSET  laid  on  the  table  a  sheet  of  note  paper. 

"Here,"  said  he,  "is  a  kin'  of  bit  sketch  plan 
of  the  library.  Observing  this  plan  attentively, 
you  will  notice  two  crosses,  marked  A  and  B. 
A  is  where  yon  wee  table  was  standing — no  the 
place  against  the  wall  where  it  was  standing  this 
morning,  but  where  it  was  standing  before  it  was 
knocked  over  last  night.  B  is  where  the  corp 
was  found.  You  follow  that,  sir?" 

Ned  nodded. 

"I  follow,"  said  he. 

"Now,  the  principle  in  a'  these  cases  of  crime 
and  detection,"  resumed  the  philosopher,  assum- 
ing his  lecturer's  air,  "is  noticing  such  sma'  points 
of  detail  as  escape  the  eye  of  the  ordinar'  observ- 
er, taking  full  and  accurate  measurements,  mak- 
ing a  plan  with  the  principal  sites  carefully 
markit,  and  drawing,  as  it  were,  logical  conclu- 
sions. Applying  this  method  now  to  the  present 
instance,  Mr.  Cromarty,  the  first  point  to  observe 
is  that  the  room  is  twenty-six  feet  long,  measured 
from  the  windie,  which  is  a  bit  recessed  or  set 
back,  as  it  were,  to  the  other  end  of  the  apart- 
ment. Half  of  26  is  13,  and  if  you  take  the 

106 


THE  DEDUCTIVE  PROCESS  107 

half  way  line  and  draw  approximate  perpendicu- 
lars to  about  where  the  table  was  standing  and  to 
as  near  as  one  can  remember  where  the  middle 
of  the  corp  roughly  was  lying,  you  get  exactly 
six  feet  ten  and  five-eighths  inches,  in  both 
cases." 

"An  approximate  perpendicular  to  roughly 
about  these  places  gives  this  exact  measurement?" 
repeated  Cromarty  gravely.  "Well,  what  next?" 

"Well,  sir,  I'll  not  insist  too  much  on  the 
coincidence,  but  it  seems  to  me  vera  remarkable. 
But  the  two  significant  features  of  this  case  seem 
to  me  yon  table  being  upset  over  by  the  windie 
and  the  corp  being  found  over  by  the  door." 

"You're  talking  horse  sense  now,"  murmured 
Ned. 

"Now,  yon  table  was  upset  by  Sir  Reginald 
falling  on  it!" 

Ned  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Because  one  of  the  legs  was  broken  clean  off!'' 

"What,  when  we  saw  it  this  morning?" 

"We  had  none  of  us  noticed  it  then,  sir;  but 
I've  had  a  look  at  it  since,  and  there's  one  leg 
broken  fair  off  at  the  top.  The  break  was  half 
in  the  socket,  as  it  were,  leaving  a  kind  of  spike, 
and  if  you  stick  that  into  the  socket  you  can  make 
the  table  look  as  good  as  new.  It's  all  right,  in 
fac',  until  you  try  to  move  it,  and  then  of  course 
the  leg  just  drops  out." 

"And  it  wasn't  like  that  yesterday?" 

"I  happened  to  move  it  myself  not  so  long 


108  SIMON 

before  Sir  Reginald  came  into  the  room,  and 
that's  how  I  know  for  certain  where  it  was  stand- 
ing and  that  it  wasn't  broken.  And  yon  wee  light 
tables  dinna  lose  their  legs  just  with  being 
cowped,  supposing  there  was  nothing  else  than 
that  to  smash  them.  No,  sir,  it  was  poor  Sir 
Reginald  falling  on  top  of  it  that  smashed  yon 
leg." 

"Then  he  wras  certainly  struck  down  near  the 
window !" 

"Well,  we'll  see  that  in  a  minute.  It's  no  in 
reason,  Mr.  Cromarty,  to  suppose  he  deliberately 
opened  the  windie  to  let  his  ain  murderer  in.  And 
it's  a'  just  stuff  and  nonsense  to  suggest  Sir 
Reginald  was  sitting  on  a  winter's  night — or  next 
door  to  winter  onyhow,  with  his  windie  wide  open. 
I'm  too  well  acquaint  with  his  habits  to  believe 
that  for  a  minute.  And  it's  impossible  the  man 
can  have  opened  a  snibbed  windie  and  got  in, 
with  some  one  sitting  in  the  room,  and  no  alarm 
given.  So  it's  perfectly  certain  the  man  must 
have  come  in  at  the  door.  That's  a  fair  deduc- 
tion, is  it  not,  sir?" 

Ned  Cromarty  frowned  into  space  in  silence. 
When  he  spoke  it  seemed  to  be  as  much  to  him- 
self as  to  Bisset. 

"How  did  the  window  get  unsnibbed?  Every- 
thing beats  me,  but  that  beats  me  fairly." 

"Well,  sir,  Mr.  Rattar  may  no  be  just  exac'ly 
as  intellectual  as  me  and  you,  but  I  think  there's 
maybe  something  in  his  idea  it  was  done  to  put 
us  off  the  scent.' 


THE  DEDUCTIVE  PROCESS  109 

"Possibly — but  it  strikes  me  as  a  derned  feeble 
dodge.  However,  what's  your  next  conclusion?" 

"My  next  conclusion  is,  sir,  that  Simon  Rattar 
may  not  be  so  vera  far  wrong  either  about  Sir 
Reginald  hearing  some  one  at  the  door  and  start- 
ing to  see  who  it  was.  Then — bang! — the  door 
would  suddenly  open,  and  afore  he'd  time  to 
speak,  the  man  had  given  him  a  bat  on  the  heid 
that  finished  him." 

"And  where  does  the  table  come  in?" 

"Well,  my  explanation  is  just  this,  that  Sir 
Reginald  suspected  something  and  took  the  wee 
table  as  a  kind  of  weapon." 

"Rot!"  said  Ned  ruthlessly.  "You  think  he 
left  the  fireplace  and  went  round  by  the  window 
to  fetch  such  a  useless  weapon  as  that?" 

James  Bisset  was  not  easily  damped. 

"That's  only  a  possibility,  sir.  Excluding  that, 
what  must  have  happened?  For  that's  the  way, 
Mr.  Cromarty,  to  get  at  the  fac's;  you  just  ex- 
clude what's  not  possible  and  what  remains  is 
the  truth.  If  you'd  read " 

"Well,  come  on.    What's  your  theory  now?" 

"Just  that  Sir  Reginald  backed  away  from  the 
door  with  the  man  after  him,  till  he  got  to  the 
table.  And  then  down  went  him  and  the  table 
together." 

"And  why  didn't  he  cry  out  or  raise  the  alarm 
in  some  way  while  he  was  backing  away?" 

"God,  but  that  fits  into  my  other  deductions 
fine!"  cried  Bisset.  "I  hadna  thought  of  that. 


110  SIMON 

Just  wait,  sir,  till  you  see  how  the  case  is  going 
to  hang  together  in  a  minute." 

"But  how  did  Sir  Reginald's  body  come  to  be 
lying  near  the  door?" 

The  philosopher  seemed  to  be  inspired  afresh. 

"The  man  clearly  meant  to  take  it  away  and 
hide  it  somewhere — that'll  be  just  it!  And  then 
he  found  it  ower  heavy  and  decided  to  leave  it 
after  all." 

"And  who  was  this  man?" 

"That's  precisely  where  proper  principles,  Mr. 
Cromarty,  lead  to  a  number  of  vera  interesting 
and  instructive  discoveries,  and  I  think  ye'll  see, 
sir,  that  the  noose  is  on  the  road  to  his  neck  al- 
ready. I've  not  got  the  actual  man,  mind!  In 
fac'  I've  no  idea  who  he  is,  but  I  can  tell  you  a 
good  few  things  about  him — enough,  in  fac',  to 
make  escape  practically  impossible.  In  the  first 
place,  he  was  one  well  acquaint  with  the  ways  of 
the  house.  Is  that  not  a  fair  deduction,  sir?" 

"Sure !"  said  Ned.  "I've  put  my  bottom  dollar 
on  that  already." 

"He  came  from  inside  this  house  and  not  out- 
side it.  How  long  he'd  been  in  the  house,  that  I 
cannot  say,  but  my  own  deductions  are  he'd  been 
in  the  house  waiting  for  his  chance  for  a  good 
while  before  the  master  heard  him  at  yon  door. 
Is  that  not  a  fair  deduction  too,  sir?" 

"It's  possible,"  said  Ned,  though  not  with  great 
conviction. 

"And  now  here's  a  point  that  accounts  for  Sir 
Reginald  giving  no  alarm — Sir  Reginald  knew 


THE  DEDUCTIVE  PROCESS  111 

the  man  and  couldna  believe  he  meant  mischief!" 

Ned  looked  at  him  quickly  and  curiously. 

"Well?"  said  he. 

"Is  that  not  a  fair  deduction,  Mr.  Cromarty?" 

"Seems  to  fill  the  bill." 

"And  now,  here's  a  few  personal  details.  Yon 
man  was  a  fair  active  strong  man  to  have  dealt 
with  the  master  the  way  he  did.  But  he  was  nol; 
strong  enough  to  carry  off  the  corp  like  a  sack  of 
potatoes;  he  was  no  a  great  muckle  big  giant, 
that's  to  say.  And  finally,  calculating  from  the  dis- 
tance the  body  was  from  the  door  and  the  number 
of  steps  he  would  be  likely  to  take  to  the  door, 
and  sae  arriving  at  his  stride  and  deducing  his 
height  accordingly,  he'd  be  as  near  as  may  be  five 
feet  nine  inches  tall.  Now,  sir,  me  and  you  ought 
to  get  him  with  a'  that  known !" 

Ned  Cromarty  looked  at  him  with  a  curious 
gleam  in  his  eye. 

"What's  your  own  height,  Bisset?"  he  enquired. 

"Five  feet  nine  inches/'  said  the  reasoner 
promptly,  and  then  suddenly  his  mouth  fell  open 
but  his  voice  ceased. 

"And  now,"  pursued  Ned  with  a  grimly 
humorous  look,  "can  you  not  think  of  a  man 
just  that  height,  pretty  hefty  but  not  a  giant, 
who  was  certainly  in  the  house  last  night,  who 
knew  all  the  ways  of  it,  and  who  would  never 
have  been  suspected  by  Sir  Reginald  of  meaning 
mischief?" 

"God!"  exclaimed  the  unfortunate  reasoner. 
"I've  proved  it  was  mysel'!" 


112  SIMON 

"Well,  and  what  shall  I  do — string  you  up  now 
or  hand  you  over  to  the  police?" 

"But,  Mr.  Cromarty — you  don't  believe  that's 
right  surely?" 

Tragic  though  the  occasion  was,  Ned  could  not 
refrain  from  one  brief  laugh.  And  then  his  face 
set  hard  again  and  he  said : 

"No,  Bisset,  I  do  not  believe  it  was  you.  In 
fact,  I  wouldn't  believe  it  was  you  if  you  con- 
fessed to  it.  But  I'd  advise  you  not  to  go  spread- 
ing your  deductions  abroad !  Deduction's  a  game 
that  wants  a  bit  more  practice  than  you  or  I  have 
had." 

It  is  possible  that  James  Bisset  had  never 
looked  quite  so  crestfallen  in  his  life. 

"Then  that's  all  nonsense  I've  been  talking, 
sir?"  he  said  lugubriously. 

"No,"  said  Ned  emphatically.  "I'll  not  say 
that  either.  You've  brought  out  some  good 
points — that  broken  table,  the  place  the  body 
was  found,  the  possible  reason  why  Sir  Reginald 
gave  no  alarm ;  seems  to  me  those  have  something 
to  them.  But  what  they  mean — what  to  con- 
clude; we're  as  far  off  that,  Bisset,  as  ever!" 

The  philosopher's  self  esteem  was  evidently  re- 
turning as  fast  as  it  had  gone. 

"Then  you  wouldn't  think  there  would  be  any 
harm,  sir,  in  my  continuing  my  investigations?" 

"On  your  present  lines,  the  only  harm  is  likely 
to  be  to  yourself.  Keep  at  it — but  don't  hang 
yourself  accidentally.  And  let  me  know  if  you 
discover  anything  else — mind  that." 


THE  DEDUCTIVE  PROCESS  113 

"I'll  mind  on  it,  no  fears,  Mr.  Cromarty!" 

Ned  left  him  with  an  expression  on  his  coun- 
tenance which  indicated  ihat  the  deductive  pro- 
cess had  already  been  resumed. 

Till  he  arrived  at  his  own  door,  the  laird  of 
Stanesland  was  unconscious  of  a  single  incident 
of  his  drive  home.  All  the  way  his  eye  stared 
straight  into  space.  Sometimes  a  gleam  would 
light  it  for  an  instant,  and  then  he  would  shake 
his  head  and  the  gleam  would  fade  away. 

"I  can  see  neither  a  damned  head  nor  a  damned 
tail  to  it  1"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  alighted. 


XIV 

THE  QUESTION  OF  MOTIVE 

Two  days  later  Mr.  Ison  entered  Mr.  Simon 
Rattar's  room  and  informed  him  that  Mr.  Cro- 
marty  of  Stanesland  wished  to  see  him  on  par- 
ticular business.  The  lawyer  was  busy  and  this 
interruption  seemed  for  the  moment  distinctly 
unwelcome.  Then  he  grunted: 

"Show  him  in." 

In  the  minute  or  two  that  passed  before  the 
laird's  entrance,  Simon  seemed  to  be  thinking 
intently  and  finally  to  come  to  a  decision,  which, 
to  judge  from  his  reception  of  his  client,  was 
on  rather  different  lines  from  his  first  thoughts 
when  Mr.  Cromarty's  name  was  announced.  To 
describe  Simon  Rattar  at  any  time  as  genial 
would  be  an  exaggeration,  but  he  showed  his 
nearest  approach  to  geniality  as  he  bade  his 
client  good-morning. 

"Sorry  to  interrupt  you,"  said  Ned,  "but  I 
can't  get  this  business  out  of  my  head,  night  or 
day.  Whether  you  want  me  or  not,  I've  got  to 
play  a  hand  in  this  game;  but  it's  on  your  side, 
Mr.  Rattar,  and  maybe  I  might  be  able  to  help 
a  little  if  I  could  get  something  to  go  on." 

The  lawyer  nodded. 

114 


115 

"I  quite  understand.  Glad  to  have  your  help, 
Mr.  Cromarty.  Dreadful  affair.  We're  all  try- 
ing to  get  to  the  bottom  of  it,  I  can  assure  you." 

"I  believe  you,"  said  Ned.  "There  never  was 
a  man  better  worth  avenging  than  Sir  Reginald." 

"Quite  so,"  said  Simon  briefly,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  other's  face. 

"Any  fresh  facts?" 

Simon  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  from  his  desk. 

"Superintendent  Sutherland  has  given  me  a 
note  of  three — for  what  they  are  worth,  discov- 
ered by  the  butler.  The  first  is  about  that  table. 
It  seems  a  leg  has  been  broken." 

"Bisset  told  me  that  before  I  left  the  house." 

"And  thought  it  was  an  important  fact,  I 
suppose?" 

"What  its  importance  is,  it's  hard  to  say,  but 
it's  a  fact,  and  seems  to  me  well  worth  noting." 

"It  is  noted,"  said  the  Procurator  Fiscal  drily. 
"But  I  can't  see  that  it  leads  anywhere." 

"Bisset  maintains  it  implies  Sir  Reginald  fell 
over  it  when  he  was  struck  down ;  and  that  seems 
to  me  pretty  likely." 

Simon  shook  his  head. 

"How  do  we  know  Sir  Reginald  hadn't  broken 
it  himself  previously  and  then  set  it  up  against 
the  wall — assuming  it  ever  stood  anywhere  else, 
which  seems  to  want  confirmation?" 

"A  dashed  thin  suggestion!"  said  Ned.  "How- 
ever, what  are  the  other  discoveries?" 

"The  second  is  that  one  or  two  small  frag- 
ments of  dried  mud  were  found  under  the  edge 


116  SIMON 

of  the  curtain,  and  the  third  is  that  the  hearth 
brush  was  placed  in  an  unusual  position — accord' 
ing  to  Bisset." 

"And  what  are  Bisset's  conclusions?" 

"That  the  man,  whoever  he  was,  had  brought 
mud  into  the  room  and  then  swept  it  up  with  the 
hearth  brush;  these  fragments  being  pieces  that 
he  had  swept  accidentally  under  the  curtain  and 
so  overlooked." 

"Good  for  Bisset!"  exclaimed  Ned.  "He  has 
got  there  this  time,  I  do  believe." 

Simon  smiled  sceptically. 

"Sir  Reginald  was  in  the  library  in  his  walk- 
ing boots  that  afternoon.  Naturally  he  would 
leave  mud,  and  quite  likely  he  swept  it  up  him- 
self then,  though  the  only  evidence  of  sweeping  is 
Bisset's  statement  about  the  brush.  And  what 
proof  is  that  of  anything?  Does  your  hearth 
brush  always  stay  in  the  same  position?" 

"Never  noticed,"  said  Ned. 

"And  I  don't  believe  anybody  notices  suffi- 
ciently closely  to  make  their  evidence  on  such  a 
point  worth  a  rap!"  said  Simon. 

"A  servant  would." 

"Well,  Mr.  Cromarty,  make  the  most  of  the 
hearth  brush  then." 

There  seemed  for  an  instant  to  be  a  defiant 
note  in  the  Procurator  Fiscal's  voice  that  made 
Ned  glance  at  him  sharply.  But  he  saw  nothing 
in  his  face  but  the  same  set  and  steady  look. 

"We're  on  the  same  side  in  this  racket,  Mr. 


THE  QUESTION  OF  MOTIVE  117 

Rattar,"  said  Ned.  "I'm  only  trying  to  help — 
same  as  you." 

Simon's  voice  seemed  now  to  have  exactly  the 
opposite  note.  For  him,  his  tone  of  acquiescence 
was  even  eager. 

"Quite  so;  quite  so,  Mr.  Cromarty.  We  are 
acting  together;  exactly." 

"That's  all  the  new  evidence  then?" 

Simon  nodded,  and  a,  few  moments  of  silence 
followed. 

"Tell  me  honestly,"  demanded  Ned  at  last, 
"have  you  actually  no  clue  at  all?  No  suspicion 
of  any  kind?  Haven't  you  got  on  the  track  of 
any  possible  reason  for  the  deed?" 

"Reason?"  repeated  Simon.  "Now  we  come 
to  business,  Mr.  Cromarty.  What's  the  motive? 
That's  the  point." 

"Have  you  found  one?" 

Simon  looked  judicially  discreet. 

"At  this  moment  all  I  can  tell  you  is  to  answer 
the  question:  'Who  benefits  by  Sir  Reginald 
Cromarty 's  death?'  " 

"Well — who  did?  Seems  to  me  every  one  who 
knew  him  suffered." 

"Sentimentally  perhaps — but  not  financially." 

Ned  looked  at  him  in  silence,  as  if  an  entirely 
new  point  of  view  were  dawning  on  his  mind. 
But  he  compressed  his  lips  and  merely  asked: 

"Well?" 

"To  begin  with,  nothing  was  stolen  from  the 
house.  Therefore  no  outside  thief  or  burglar 
gained  anything.  I  may  add  also  that  the  police 


118  SIMON 

have  made  enquiries  throughout  the  whole  county, 
and  no  bad  characters  are  known  to  be  in  the 
place.  Therefore  there  is  no  ground  for  suppos- 
ing the  deed  was  the  work  of  a  robber,  and  to 
my  mind,  no  evidence  worth  considering  to  sup- 
port that  view.  The  only  people  that  gained 
anything,  Mr.  Cromarty,  are  those  who  will  ben- 
efit under  Sir  Reginald's  will." 

Cromarty's  expression  did  not  change  again. 
This  was  evidently  the  new  point  of  view. 

Simon  opened  a  drawer  and  took  from  it  a 
document. 

"In  the  ordinary  course  of  events  Sir  Regi- 
nald's will  would  not  be  known  till  after  his 
funeral  to-morrow,  but  if  I  may  regard  this  con- 
versation as  confidential,  I  can  tell  you  the  prin- 
cipal facts  so  far  as  they  affect  this  case.'* 

"I  don't  want  you  to  do  anything  you 
shouldn't,"  said  Ned  quickly.  "If  it's  not  the 
proper  game  to  read  the  will  now,  don't." 

But  Silent  Simon  seemed  determined  to  oblige 
this  morning. 

"It  is  a  mere  matter  of  form  delaying  till  to- 
morrow, and  I  shall  not  read  it  now ;  merely  tell 
you  the  pertinent  facts  briefly." 

"Fire  away  then.  The  Lord  knows  I  want  to 
learn  every  derned  pertinent  fact — want  to 
badly!" 

"In  the  first  place,"  the  lawyer  began,  "Lady 
Cromarty  is  life  rented  in  the  mansion  and  prop- 
erty, less  certain  sums  to  be  paid  to  other  people, 
which  I  am  coming  to.  She  therefore  lost  her 


THE  QUESTION  OF  MOTIVE  119 

husband  and  a  certain  amount  of  income,  and 
gained  nothing  that  we  know  of." 

"That's  a  cold-blooded  way  of  putting  it,"  said 
Ned  with  something  like  a  shiver.  "However, 
what  next?" 

"Sir  Malcolm  gets  £1,000  a  year  to  support 
him  during  the  life  time  of  Lady  Cromarty,  and 
afterwards  falls  heir  to  the  whole  estate.  He 
therefore  gains  a  baronetcy  and  £1,000  a  year 
immediately,  and  the  estate  is  brought  a  stage 
nearer  him.  Miss  Farmond  gets  a  legacy  of 
£2,000.  She  therefore  gained  £2,000." 

"Not  that  she'll  need  it,"  said  Ned  quickly. 
"That  item  doesn't  count." 

Simon  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"Why  not?"  he  enquired. 

Ned  hesitated  a  moment. 

"Perhaps  I  oughtn't  to  have  said  anything," 
he  said,  "but  this  conversation  is  confidential,  and 
anyhow  the  fact  will  be  known  soon  enough  now, 
I  guess.  She  is  engaged  to  Sir  Malcolm." 

For  a  moment  Simon  continued  to  look  at  him 
very  hard.  Then  he  merely  said : 

"Indeed?" 

"Of  course  you  won't  repeat  this  till  they  care 
to  make  it  known  themselves.  I  told  you  so  that 
you'd  see  a  legacy  of  two  thousand  pounds 
wouldn't  count  much.  It  only  means  an  income 
of— what?" 

"One  hundred  pounds  at  five  per  cent;  eighty 
pounds  at  four." 

"Well,  that  will  be  neither  here  nor  there  now." 


120  SIMON 

Again  Simon  stared  in  silence  for  a  moment, 
but  rather  through  than  at  his  visitor,  it  seemed. 
Then  he  glanced  down  at  the  document  again. 

"James  Bisset  gets  a  legacy  of  three  hundred 
pounds.  There  are  a  few  smaller  legacies  to 
servants,  but  the  only  two  that  might  have  affect- 
ed this  case  do  not  actually  do  so.  One  is  John 
Robertson,  Sir  Reginald's  chauffeur,  but  on  the 
night  of  the  crime  he  was  away  from  home  and 
an  alibi  can  be  established  till  two  in  the  morning. 
The  other  is  Donald  Mackay,  the  gardener,  but 
he  is  an  old  man  and  was  in  bed  with  rheumatism 
that  night." 

"I  see,"  observed  Ned,  "y°u  are  giving  every- 
body mentioned  in  the  will  credit  for  perhaps 
having  committed  the  murder,  supposing  it  was 
physically  possible?" 

"I  am  answering  the  question — who  that  could 
conceivably  have  committed  it,  had  a  motive  for 
doing  so?  And  also,  what  wajs  that  motive?" 

"Is  that  the  whole  list  of  them?" 

Mr.  Rattar  glanced  at  the  will  again. 

"Sir  Reginald  has  cancelled  your  own  debt  of 
twelve  hundred  pounds,  Mr.  Cromarty." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Ned,  and  for  a  moment 
could  say  no  more.  Then  he  said  in  a  low  voice : 
"It's  up  to  me  more  than  ever!" 

"That  is  the  full  list  of  persons  within  the  vicin- 
ity two  nights  ago  who  gained  by  Sir  Reginald's 
death,"  said  Simon  in  a  dry  voice,  as  he  put  away 
the  will. 

"Including  me  ?"  said  Ned.    "Well,  all  I've  got 


THE  QUESTION  OF  MOTIVE  121 

to  say  is  this,  Mr.  Rattar,  that  my  plain  common 
sense  tells  me  that  those  are  no  motives  at  all. 
For  who  knew  what  they  stood  to  gain  by 
this  will?  Or  that  they  stood  to  gain  any  blessed 
thing  at  all?  I  hadn't  the  foggiest  notion  Sir 
Reginald  meant  to  cancel  that  debt!" 

"You  may  not  have  known,"  said  Simon  still 
very  drily,  "and  it  is  quite  possible  that  Bisset 
may  not  have  known  of  his  legacy.  Though,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  is  likely  enough  that  Sir  Reg- 
inald mentioned  the  fact  that  he  would  be  remem- 
bered. But  Lady  Cromarty  presumably  knew 
his  arrangements.  And  it  is  most  unlikely  that 
he  should  have  said  nothing  to  his  heir  about  his 
intention  to  make  him  an  adequate  allowance  if 
he  came  into  the  title  and  Lady  Cromarty  was 
still  alive  and  life  rented  in  the  place.  Also,  it  is 
highly  probable  that  either  Sir  Reginald  or  Lady 
Cromarty  told  Miss  Farmond  that  some  provision 
would  be  made  for  her." 

Ned  Cromarty  said  nothing  for  a  few  moments, 
but  he  seemed  to  be  thinking  very  hard.  Then  he 
rose  from  his  chair  and  remarked: 

"Well,  I  guess  this  has  all  got  to  be  thought 
over." 

He  moved  slowly  to  the  door,  while  Simon 
gazed  silently  into  space.  His  hand  was  on  the 
handle  when  the  lawyer  turned  in  his  chair  and 
asked : 

"Why  was  nothing  said  about  Sir  Malcolm's 
engagement  to  Miss  Farmond?" 

"Well,"  said  Ned,  "the  whole  thing  is  no  busi- 


SIMON 

ness  of  mine,  but  Sir  Reginald  had  pretty  big 
ideas  in  some  ways  and  probably  one  of  them  was 
connected  with  his  heir's  marriage." 

"A  clandestine  engagement  then?" 

Ned  Cromarty  seemed  to  dislike  the  term. 

"It's  none  of  my  business,"  he  said  shortly. 
"There  was  no  blame  on  anyone,  anyhow;  and 
mind  you,  this  is  absolutely  confidential." 

The  door  closed  behind  him  and  Simon  was  left 
still  apparently  thinking. 


XV 

TWO  WOMEN 

ON  the  day  after  the  funeral  Lady  Cromarty 
for  the  first  time  felt  able  to  see  the  family  law- 
yer. Simon  Rattar  came  out  in  the  morning  in 
a  hired  car  and  spent  more  than  a  couple  of  hours 
with  her.  Then  for  a  short  time  he  was  closeted 
with  Sir  Malcolm,  who,  referring  to  the  interview 
afterwards,  described  him  as  "infernally  close  and 
unsatisfactory" ;  and  finally,  in  company  with  the 
young  baronet  and  Cicely  Farmond,  he  ate  a  hur- 
ried lunch  and  departed. 

Ever  since  the  fatal  evening,  Lady  Cromarty 
had  been  shut  up  in  her  own  apartments  and  the 
two  young  people  had  taken  their  meals  together. 
Sir  Malcolm  at  his  brightest  and  best  had  been 
capricious  company.  He  was  now  moody  beyond 
all  Cicely's  experience  of  him.  His  newborn  sol- 
emnity was  the  most  marked  feature  of  his  de- 
meanour, but  sometimes  it  dissolved  into  pathetic 
demands  for  sympathy,  and  then  again  froze  into 
profound  and  lugubrious  silence.  He  said  that  he 
was  sleeping  badly,  and  the  pallor  of  his  face  and 
the  darkness  beneath  his  eyes  seemed  to  confirm 
this.  Several  times  he  appeared  to  be  on  the  point 
of  some  peculiarly  solemn  disclosure  of  his  feel- 

123 


SIMON 

ings  or  his  symptoms,  but  always  ended  by  up- 
braiding his  fellow  guest  for  her  lack  of  sym- 
pathy, and  then  relapsing  into  silence. 

Every  now  and  then  on  such  occasions  Cicely 
caught  him  staring  at  her  with  an  expression  she 
had  never  seen  before,  and  then  looking  hurriedly 
away ;  a  disconcerting  habit  that  made  her  own  lot 
none  the  easier.  So  far  as  the  observant  Bisset 
could  judge,  the  baronet  seemed,  indeed,  to  be 
having  so  depressing  an  effect  upon  the  young 
lady  that  as  her  friend  and  counsellor  he  took  the 
liberty  of  advising  a  change  of  air. 

"We'll  miss  you  vera  much,  Miss  Farmond," 
he  was  good  enough  to  say,  "but  I'm  thinking  that 
what  you  want  is  a  seaside  resort." 

She  smiled  a  little  sadly. 

"I  shall  have  to  make  a  change  very  soon,  Bis- 
set,"  she  said.  "Indeed,  perhaps  I  ought  to  have 
let  Lady  Cromarty  know  already  that  I  was 
ready  to  go  the  moment  I  was  sure  I  could  do 
nothing  more  for  her." 

She  began  her  packing  on  the  morning  of 
Simon's  visit.  At  lunch  her  air  was  a  little  livelier 
at  first,  as  if  even  Simon  Rattar  were  a  welcome 
variety  in  a  regime  of  undiluted  baronet.  Sir 
Malcolm,  too,  endeavoured  to  do  the  honours 
with  some  degree  of  cheerfulness;  but  short 
though  the  meal  was,  both  were  silent  before  the 
end  and  vaguely  depressed  afterwards. 

"I  can't  stand  the  old  fellow's  fishy  eye!"  de- 
clared Sir  Malcolm.  "I'd  as  soon  lunch  with  a 
codfish,  dash  it!  Didn't  you  feel  it  too,  Cicely?" 


TWO  WOMEN  125 

"He  seemed  to  look  at  one  so  uncomfortably," 
she  agreed.  "I  couldn't  help  feeling  he  had  some- 
thing on  his  mind  against  me,  though  I  suppose 
he  really  doesn't  trouble  his  head  about  my  exist- 
ence." 

"I'm  hanged  if  I  like  the  way  he  looks  at  me!" 
muttered  the  baronet,  and  once  again  Cicely 
caught  that  odd  expression  in  his  eye. 

That  afternoon  Bisset  informed  Miss  Far- 
mond  that  her  ladyship  desired  to  see  her.  Lady 
Cromarty's  face  looked  thinner  than  ever  and  her 
lips  more  tightly  compressed.  In  her  deep 
mourning  and  with  her  grave  air,  she  seemed  to 
Cicely  a  monumental  figure  of  tragedy.  Her 
thinness  and  pallor  and  tight  lips,  she  thought 
only  natural,  but  there  was  one  note  that  seemed 
discordant  with  pure  desolation.  The  note  was 
sounded  by  Lady  Cromarty's  eyes.  At  all  times 
they  had  been  ready  to  harden  upon  an  occasion, 
but  Cicely  thought  she  had  never  seen  them  as 
hard  as  they  were  now. 

"What  are  your  plans,  Cicely?"  she  asked  in  a 
low,  even  voice  that  showed  no  feeling  one  way 
or  the  other. 

"I  have  begun  to  pack  already,"  said  the  girl. 
"I  don't  want  to  leave  so  long  as  I  can  be  of  any 
use  here,  but  I  am  ready  to  go  at  any  time." 

She  had  expected  to  be  asked  where  she  was 
going,  but  Lady  Cromarty  instead  of  putting  any 
question,  looked  at  her  for  a  few  moments  in 
silence.  And  it  was  then  that  a  curious  uncom- 
fortable feeling  began  to  possess  the  girl.  It  had 


126  SIMON 

no  definite  form  and  was  founded  on  no  reason, 
beyond  the  steady  regard  of  those  hard  dark 
eyes. 

"I  had  rather  you  stayed." 

Cicely's  own  eves  showed  her  extreme  surprise. 

"Stayed— here?" 

"Yes." 

"But  are  you  sure?  Wouldn't  you  really 
rather  be  alone?  It  isn't  for  my  sake,  is  it?  be- 
cause— " 

"It  is  for  mine.  I  want  you  to  remain  here  and 
keep  me  company." 

She  spoke  without  a  trace  of  smile  or  any  soft- 
ening of  her  face,  and  Cicely  still  hesitated. 

"But  would  it  really  be  convenient?  You  have 
been  very  kind  to  me,  and  if  you  really  want  me 
here—" 

"I  do,"  interrupted  Lady  Cromarty  in  the 
same  even  voice.  "I  want  you  particularly  to 
remain." 

"Very  well  then,  I  shall.  Thank  you  very 
much — " 

Again  she  was  cut  short. 

"That  is  settled  then.  Perhaps  you  will  ex- 
cuse me  now,  Cicely." 

The  girl  went  downstairs  very  thoughtfully. 
At  the  foot  the  young  baronet  met  her. 

"Have  you  settled  where  to  go?"  he  asked. 

"Lady  Cromartylhas  asked  me  to  stay  on  with 
her." 

His  face  fell. 


TWO  WOMEN  127 

"Stay  on  in  this  house  of  mourning?  Oh,  no, 
Cicely!" 

"I  have  promised,"  she  said. 

The  young  man  grew  curiously  agitated. 

"Oh,  don't  stay  here!"  he  besought  her.  "It 
keeps  me  in  such  dreadful  suspense !" 

"In  suspense!"  she  exclaimed.  "Whatever  do 
you  mean,  Malcolm?" 

Again  she  saw  that  look  in  his  eye,  and  again 
he  raised  a  sympathy-beseeching  wail.  Cicely's 
patience  began  to  give  way. 

"Really,  Malcolm!"  she  cried  tartly,  "if  you 
have  anything  to  say,  say  it,  but  don't  go  on  like 
a  baby!" 

"Like  a  baby!"  repeated  the  deeply  affronted 
baronet.  "Heavens,  would  you  liken  me  to  that, 
of  all  things!  I  had  meant  to  confide  in  you, 
Cicely,  but  you  have  made  it  impossible.  Impos- 
sible!" he  repeated  sombrely,  and  stalked  to  the 
door. 

Next  morning,  Sir  Malcolm  left  for  London, 
his  confidence  still  locked  in  his  breast,  and  Cicely 
was  alone  with  Lady  Cromarty. 


XVI 

RUMOUR 

ONE  windy  afternoon  a  man  on  a  bicycle  strug- 
gled up  to  the  door  of  Stanesland  Castle  and 
while  waiting  for  an  answer  to  his  ring,  studied 
the  front  of  that  ancient  building  with  an  expres- 
sion which  would  at  once  have  informed  his  inti- 
mates that  he  was  meditating  on  the  principles 
of  Scottish  baronial  architecture.  A  few  minutes 
later  Mr.  Bisset  was  shown  into  the  laird  of 
Stanesland's  smoking  room  and  addressed  Mr. 
Cromarty  with  a  happy  blend  of  consciousness  of 
his  own  importance  and  respect  for  the  laird's. 

"I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  calling,  sir,  for  to 
lay  before  you  a  few  fresh  datas." 

"Fire  away,"  said  the  laird. 

"In  the  first  place,  sir,  I  understand  that  you 
have  been  making  enquiries  through  the  county 
yourself,  sir;  is  that  not  so?" 

"I've  been  through  this  blessed  county,  Bisset, 
from  end  to  end  to  see  whether  I  could  get  on  the 
track  of  any  suspicious  stranger.  I've  been  work- 
ing both  with  the  police  and  independent  of  the 
police,  and  I've  drawn  blank." 

Bisset  looked  distinctly  disappointed. 

"I've  heard,  sir,  one  or  two  stories  which  I  was 
hoping  might  have  something  in  them." 

128 


RUMOUR  129 

"I've  heard  about  half  a  dozen  and  gone  into 
them  all,  and  there's  nothing  in  one  of  them." 

"Half  a  dozen  stories?"  Bisset's  eye  began  to 
look  hopeful  again.  "Well,  sir,  perhaps  if  I  was 
to  go  into  some  of  them  again  in  the  light  of  my 
fresh  datas,  they  might  wear,  as  it  were,  a  dif- 
ferent aspect." 

"Well,"  said  Ned.  "What  have  you  found? 
Have  a  cigar  and  let's  hear  what  you've  been  at." 

The  expert  crackled  the  cigar  approvingly  be- 
tween his  fingers,  lit  it  with  increased  approval, 
and  began: 

"Yon  man  was  behind  the  curtains  all  the 
time." 

"The  devil  he  was !    How  do  you  know  ?" 

"Well,  sir,  it's  a  matter  of  deduction.  Ye  see 
supposing  he  came  in  by  the  door,  there  are  ob- 
jections, and  supposing  he  came  in  by  the  windie 
there  are  objections.  Either  way  there  are  ob- 
jections which  make  it  difficult  for  to  accept  those 
theories.  And  then  it  struck  me — the  man  must 
have  been  behind  the  curtains  all  the  while!" 

"He  must  have  come  either  by  the  door  or  win-1 
dow  to  get  there." 

"That's  true,  Mr.  Cromarty.  But  such  minor 
points  we  can  consider  in  a  wee  while,  when  we 
have  seen  how  everything  is  otherwise  explained. 
Now  supposing  we  have  the  murderer  behind  the 
curtains ;  that  brings  him  within  six  feet  of  where 
the  wee  table  was  standing.  How  did  he  get  Sir 
Reginald  to  come  to  the  table?  He  made  some 
kind  of  sound.  What  kind  of  sound?  Some 


130  SIMON 

imitation  of  an  animal ;  probably  of  a  cat.  How 
did  Sir  Reginald  not  cry  out  when  he  saw  the 
man?  Because  he  never  did  see  the  man!  How 
did  he  not  see  him?" 

"Man  was  a  ventriloquist  and  made  a  sound  in 
the  other  direction,"  suggested  Ned  with  extreme 
gravity. 

"God,  but  that's  possible,  Mr.  Cromarty!  I 
hadna  thought  of  that!  Well,  it'll  fit  into  the 
facts  all  right,  you'll  see.  My  theory  was  that 
either  the  man  threw  something  at  the  master  and 
knocked  him  down  that  way,  or  he  was  able  to 
reach  out  and  give  him  a  bat  on  the  heid  without 
moving  from  the  curtains." 

"He  must  have  been  an  awkward  customer." 

"He  was  that!  A  great  tall  man  with  long 
arms.  And  what  had  he  at  the  end  of  them? 
Either  a  club  such  as  savages  use  or  something 
to  throw  like  a  boomerang.  And  he  could  imitate 
animals,  and  as  you  say,  he  was  probably  a  ven- 
triloquist. And  he  was  that  active  and  strong 
he  could  get  into  the  house  through  one  of  the 
windies,  just  like  a  great  monkey.  Now  what's 
the  history  of  that  man  ?" 
,  "Pretty  wild,  I  guess." 

"Ah,  but  one  can  say  more  than  that,  sir.  He 
was  not  an  ordinary  Englishman  or  Scotchman. 
He  was  from  the  Colonies  or  America  or  one  of 
thae  wild  places!  Is  that  not  a  fair  deduction, 
sir?" 

"It  all  points  to  that,"  said  Ned,  with  a  curious 
look. 


RUMOUR  131 

"It  points  to  that  indeed,  sir.  Now  where's  he 
hidden  himself  ?  It  should  not  be  difficult  to  find 
him  with  all  that  to  go  on." 

"A  tall  active  strong  man  who  has  lived  in  the 
Colonies  or  America ;  one  ought  to  get  him.  Has 
he  only  one  eye,  by  any  chance?" 

The  reasoner  gazed  petrified  at  his  counsellor. 

"God,  but  I've  just  described  yourself  sir!" 
he  cried  in  an  unhappy  voice. 

"You're  determined  to  hang  one  of  us,  Bisset." 

For  a  moment  Bisset  seemed  to  find  conversa- 
tion difficult.  Then  he  said  miserably : 

"So  it's  no  good,  and  all  the  alternatives  just 
fa'  to  pieces." 

The  extreme  dejection  of  his  voice  struck  the 
other  sharply. 

"Alternatives  to  what?"  he  asked. 

For  a  few  seconds  Bisset  did  not  answer. 

"What's  on  your  mind,  man?"  demanded  Cro- 
marty. 

"The  reason,  sir,  I've  got  that  badly  off  the 
rails  with  my  deductions  is  just  that  I  had  to  find 
some  other  theory  than  the  story  that's  going 
about." 

"What  story?" 

"You've  no  heard  it,  sir?" 

Ned  shook  his  head. 

"I  hardly  like  to  repeat  it,  sir;  it's  that  cruel 
and  untrue.  They're  saying  Sir  Malcolm  and 
Miss  Farmond  had  got  engaged  to  be  married." 

"Well?"  said  Ned  sharply,  and  he  seemed  to 
control  his  feelings  with  an  effort. 


132  SIMON 

"A  secret  engagement,  like,  that  Sir  Reginald 
would  never  have  allowed.  But  there  I  think 
they're  right,  sir.  Sir  Reginald  was  unco'  taken 
up  with  Miss  Farmond,  but  he'd  have  looked 
higher  for  his  heir.  And  so  as  they  couldn't  get 
married  while  he  was  alive — neither  of  them  hav- 
ing any  money,  well,  sir,  this  story  says — ' 

He  broke  off  and  neither  spoke  for  an  instant. 

"Good  God!"  murmured  Cromarty.  "They 
actually  accuse  Malcolm  Cromarty  and  Miss 
Cicely  of—?" 

He  paused  too,  and  Bisset  nodded. 

"Who  is  saying  this?" 

"It  seems  to  be  the  clash  of  the  haill  country 
by  this  time,  sir." 

He  seemed  a  little  frightened  at  the  effect  of 
his  own  words;  and  it  was  small  wronder.  Ned 
Cromarty  was  a  nasty  looking  customer  at  that 
moment. 

"Who  started  the  lie?" 

"It's  just  ignorance  and  want  of  education 
of  the  people,  I'm  thinking,  Mr.  Cromarty. 
They're  no  able  to  grasp  the  proper  principles— 

"Lady  Cromarty  must  be  told !  She  could  put 
a  stop  to  it- 
Something  in  Bisset's  look  pulled  him  up 
sharply. 

"I'm  afraid  her  ladyship  believes  it  herself,  sir. 
Maybe  you  have  heard  she  has  keepit  Miss  Far- 
mond to  stay  on  with  her." 

"I  have."' 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Bisset  very  slowly  and  delib- 


RUMOUR  133 

erately,  "I'm  thinking — it's  just  to  watch  her." 

Ned  Cromarty  had  been  smoking  a  pipe. 
There  was  a  crack  now  as  his  teeth  went  through 
the  mouthpiece.  He  flung  the  pipe  into  the  fire, 
jumped  up,  and  began  pacing  the  room  without 
a  word  or  a  glance  at  the  other.  At  last  he 
stopped  as  abruptly  as  he  had  started. 

"This  slander  has  got  to  be  stopped!" 

And  then  he  paced  on. 

"Just  what  I  was  saying  to  myself,  sir.  It  was 
likely  a  wee  thing  of  over  anxiety  to  stop  it  that 
made  me  think  o'  the  possibility  of  a  wild  man 
from  America,  which  was  perhaps  a  bit  beyond 
the  limits  of  what  ye  might  call,  as  it  were,  scien- 
tific deduction." 

"When  did  Lady  Cromarty  begin  to  take  up 
this  attitude?" 

"Well,  the  plain  truth  is,  sir,  that  her  ladyship 
has  been  keeping  sae  much  to  herself  that  it's  not 
rightly  possible  to  tell  what's  been  in  her  mind. 
But  it  was  the  afternoon  when  Mr.  Rattar  had 
been  at  the  house  that  she  sent  for  Miss  Far- 
mond  and  tellt  her  then  she  was  wanting  her  to 
stop  on." 

"That  would  be  after  she  knew  the  contents  of 
the  will!  I  wonder  if  the  idea  had  entered  her 
head  before,  or  if  the  will  alone  started  it?  Old 
Simon  would  never  start  such  a  scandal  himself 
about  his  best  client.  He  knows  too  well  which 
side  his  bread  is  buttered  for  that !  But  he  might 
have  talked  his  infernal  jargon  about  the  motive 
and  the  people  who  stood  to  gain  by  the  death. 


134  SIMON 

That  might  have  been  enough  to  set  her  sus- 
picions off." 

"Or  I  was  thinking  maybe,  sir,  it  was  when  her 
ladyship  heard  of  the  engagement." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Ned,  stopping  suddenly 
again,  "that's  possible.  When  did  she  hear?" 

Bisset  shook  his  head. 

"That  beats  me  again,  sir.  Her  own  maid 
likely  has  been  telling  her  things  the  time  we've 
not  been  seeing  her." 

"Did  the  maid — or  did  you  know  about  the  en- 
gagement?" 

"Servants  are  uneducated  creatures,"  said  Bis- 
set  contemptuously.  "And  women  at  the  best 
have  just  the  ae'  thought — who's  gaun  to  be  fool 
enough  to  marry  next?  They  were  always  gos- 
siping about  Mr.  Malcolm  and  Miss  Cicely,  Imfc 
there  was  never  what  I  should  call  a  data  to 
found  a  deduction  on;  not  for  a  sensible  person. 
I  never  believed  it  myself,  but  it's  like  enough  her 
ladyship  may  have  suspected  it  for  a  while  back." 

"I  suppose  Lady  Cromarty  has  been  nearly 
distracted  ?" 

"Very  near,  sir." 

"That's  her  only  excuse.  But  the  story  is  such 
obvious  nonsense,  Bisset,  that  surely  no  one  in 
their  proper  senses  really  believes  it?" 

The  philosopher  shook  a  wise  head. 

"I  have  yet  to  learn,  Mr.  Cromarty,  what  folks 
will  not  believe." 

"They've  got  to  stop  believing  this!"  said  Ned 
emphatically. 


XVII 

A  SUGGESTION 

NEXT  morning  Simon  Rattar  was  again  in- 
formed that  Mr.  Cromarty  of  Stanesland  wished 
to  see  him,  and  again  the  announcement  seemed 
to  be  unwelcome.  He  was  silent  for  several  sec- 
onds before  answering,  and  when  he  allowed  Mr. 
Cromarty  to  be  shown  in,  it  was  with  an  air  which 
suggested  the  getting  over  a  distasteful  business 
as  soon  as  possible. 

"Well,  Mr.  Cromarty?"  he  grunted  brusquely. 

Mr.  Cromarty  never  beat  about  the  bush. 

"I've  come  to  see  you  about  this  scandalous 
story  that's  going  round." 

The  lawyer  glanced  at  the  papers  he  had  been 
busy  with,  as  if  to  indicate  that  they  were  of  more 
importance  than  scandals. 

"What  story?"  he  enquired. 

"That  Sir  Malcolm  and  Miss  Farmond  were 
concerned  in  Sir  Reginald's  murder." 

There  was  something  compelling  in  Ned's  di- 
rectness. Simon  pushed  aside  the  papers  and 
looked  at  him  fixedly. 

"Oh,"  he  said.    "They  say  that,  do  they?" 

"Haven't  you  heard?" 

Simon's  grunt  was  non-committal. 

"Well   anyway,    this   derned   story  is   going 

135 


136  SIMON 

about,  and  something's  got  to  be  done  to  stop  it." 

"What  do  you  suggest?'* 

"Are  you  still  working  the  case  for  all  you 
know  how?" 

Simon  seemed  to  resent  this  enquiry  a  little. 

"I  am  the  Procurator  Fiscal.  The  police  make 
the  actual  enquiries.  They  have  done  everything 
they  could." 

'They  have  done'  ?    Do  you  mean  that  they 
have  stopped  looking  for  the  murderer?" 

"Certainly  not.  They  are  still  enquiring;  not 
that  it  is  likely  to  be  much  further  use." 

There  seemed  to  be  a  sardonic  note  in  his  last 
words  that  deepened  Cromarty's  frown  and  kin- 
dled his  eye. 

"You  mean  to  suggest  that  any  conclusion  has 
been  reached?" 

"Nothing  is  absolutely  certain,"  said  Simon. 

Again  the  accent  on  the  "absolutely"  seemed  to 
rouse  his  visitor's  ire. 

"You  believe  this  story,  do  you?" 

"If  I  believed  it,  I  should  order  an  arrest.  I 
have  just  told  you  nothing  is  absolutely  certain." 

"Look  here,"  said  Cromarty,  "I  don't  want  to 
crab  Superintendent  Sutherland  or  his  men,  but 
you  want  to  get  somebody  better  than  them  on  to 
this  job." 

Though  the  Procurator  Fiscal  kept  his  feelings 
well  in  hand,  it  was  evident  that  this  suggestion 
struck  him  more  unfavourably  than  anything  his 
visitor  had  said  yet.  He  even  seemed  for  one  in- 
stant to  be  a  little  startled  by  its  audacity. 


A  SUGGESTION  137 

"I  disagree,"  he  muttered. 

"Now  don't  you  take  offence,  Mr.  Rattar," 
said  Ned  with  a  sudden  smile.  "I'm  not  aiming 
this  at  you,  but,  hang  it,  you  know  as  well  as  I 
do  that  Sutherland  is  no  great  shakes  at  detec- 
tion. They  are  all  just  country  bobbies.  What 
we  want  is  a  London  detective." 

Simon  seemed  to  have  recovered  his  equanim- 
ity during  this  speech.  He  shook  his  head  em- 
phatically, but  his  voice  was  as  dispassionately 
brusque  as  ever. 

"London  detective?  Much  over-rated  people, 
I  assure  you.  No  use  in  a  case  of  this  kind." 

"The  very  kind  of  case  a  real  copper-bottomed 
expert  would  be  some  use  in!" 

"You  are  thinking  of  detectives  in  stories,  Mr. 
Cromarty.  The  real  men  are  no  better  than 
Sutherland — not  a  bit.  I  believe  in  Sutherland. 
Better  man  than  he  looks.  Very  shrewd,  most 
painstaking.  Couldn't  have  a  better  man.  Use- 
less expense  getting  a  man  from  London." 

"Don't  you  trouble  about  the  expense,  Mr. 
Rattar.  That  can  be  arranged  all  right.  I  want 
a  first  class  man  engaged." 

The  sudden  glance  which  the  lawyer  shot  at 
him,  struck  Ned  as  unusual  in  his  experience  of 
Simon  Rattar.  He  appeared  to  be  startled  again, 
and  yet  it  was  not  mere  annoyance  that  seemed 
to  show  for  the  fraction  of  a  second  in  his  eye. 
And  then  the  next  instant  the  man's  gaze  was  as 
cold  and  steady  as  ever.  He  pursed  his  lips  and 
considered  his  answer  in  silence  before  he  spoke. 


138  SIMON 

"You  are  a  member  of  the  family,  Mr.  Cro- 
marty;  the  actual  head  of  it,  in  fact,  I  believe." 

"Going  by  pedigrees,  I  believe  I  am,  but  being 
a  member  is  reason  enough  for  my  wanting  to  get 
daylight  through  this  business — and  seeing  some- 
body swing  for  it!" 

"What  if  you  made  things  worse?" 

"Worse !    How  could  they  be  ?" 

"Mr.  Cromarty,  I  am  the  Procurator  Fiscal 
in  charge  of  this  case.  But  I  am  also  lawyer  and 
factor  to  the  Cromarty  family,  and  my  father  was 
before  me.  If  there  was  evidence  enough — clear 
and  proper  evidence — to  convict  any  person  of 
this  crime,  it  would  be  my  duty  as  Procurator 
Fiscal  to  convict  them.  But  there  is  no  definite 
evidence,  as  you  know  yourself.  All  we  can  do, 
if  we  push  this  matter  too  far,  is  to  make  a  family 
scandal  public.  Are  you  as  the  head  of  the  Cro- 
marty family,  and  I  as  their  factor,  to  do  this?" 

It  was  difficult  to  judge  with  what  feelings 
Ned  Cromarty  heard  this  deliberate  statement 
and  appeal.  His  mouth  was  as  hard  as  the  law- 
yer's and  his  eye  revealed  nothing. 

"Then  you  propose  to  hush  the  thing  up?" 

"I  said  nothing  about  hushing  up.  I  propose" 
to  wait  till  I  get  some  evidence,  Mr.  Cromarty. 
It  is  a  little  difficult  perhaps  for  a  layman  to  real- 
ise what  evidence  means,  but  I  can  tell  you — and 
any  lawyer,  or  any  detective,  would  tell  you— 
we  have  nothing  that  can  be  called  evidence  yet." 

"And  you  won't  get  any  till  you  call  in  some- 
body a  cut  above  Sutherland." 


A  SUGGESTION  139 

"The  scent  is  too  cold  by  this  time — " 

"Who  let  it  cool?"  interrupted  Ned. 

For  a  moment  the  lawyer's  eyes  looked  un- 
pleasant. 

"Every  effort  was  made  to  find  a  clue;  by 
yourself  as  well  as  by  the  police.  And  let  me 
tell  you,  Mr.  Cromarty,  that  our  efforts  have  not 
been  as  fruitless  as  you  seem  to  think." 

"What  have  we  discovered?" 

"In  the  first  place  that  there  was  no  robbery 
committed  and  no  sign  of  anybody  having  en- 
tered the  house  from  the  outside." 

Ned  shook  his  head. 

"That's  a  lot  too  strong.  I  believe  the  man  did 
come  in  by  the  window." 

"You  admit  there  is  no  proof?" 

"Sure,"  said  Ned  candidly.  "I  quite  admit 
there  is  no  proof  of  anything — yet." 

"No  robbery,  no  evidence  of  anyone  having 
come  in  by  the  window — " 

"No  proof,"  corrected  Ned.  "I  maintain  that 
the  window  being  unsnibbed  and  that  mud  on  the 
floor  and  the  table  near  the  window  being  upset 
is  evidence ;  but  not  proof  positive." 

Simon's  patience  had  by  this  time  become  ex- 
emplary. His  only  wish  seemed  to  be  to  convince 
by  irresistible  argument  this  obstinate  objector. 
It  struck  the  visitor,  moreover,  that  in  this  effort 
the  lawyer  was  displaying  a  fluency  not  at  all 
characteristic  of  silent  Simon. 

"Well,  let  us  leave  it  at  that.  Suppose  there 
be  a  possibility  that  entry  was  actually  made  by 


140  SIMON 

the  window.  It  is  a  bare  possibility  against  the 
obvious  and  easy  entrance  by  the  door, — near 
which,  remember,  the  body  was  found.  Then, 
as  I  have  pointed  out,  there  was  no  robbery,  and 
not  a  trace  has  been  found  of  anybody  outside 
that  house  with  a  motive  for  the  crime." 

"Except  me." 

"Unless  you  care  to  except  yourself.  But 
neither  you  nor  the  police  have  found  any  bad 
characters  in  the  place." 

"That's  true  enough,"  Ned  admitted  reluc- 
tantly. 

"On  the  other  hand,  there  were  within  the 
house  two  people  with  a  very  strong  motive  for, 
committing  the  crime." 

"I  deny  that!"  cried  Ned  with  a  sudden  gleam 
of  ferocity  in  his  eye  that  seemed  to  disconcert 
the  lawyer. 

"Deny  it?  You  can  scarcely  deny  that  two 
young  people,  in  love  with  one  another  and 
secretly  engaged,  with  no  money,  and  no  chance 
of  getting  married,  stood  to  gain  everything  they 
wanted  by  a  death  that  gave  them  freedom  to 
marry,  a  baronetcy,  a  thousand  a  year,  and  two 
thousand  in  cash  besides?" 

"Damn  it,  Mr.  Rattar,  is  the  fact  that  a  farmer 
benefits  by  a  shower  any  evidence  that  he  has 
turned  on  the  rain?" 

"I  have  repeatedly  said,  Mr.  Cromarty,  that 
there  is  no  definite  evidence  to  convict  anybody. 
But  nothing  would  have  been  easier  than  making 
an  end  of  Sir  Reginald  Cromarty,  to  anybody 


A  SUGGESTION  141 

inside  that  house  whom  he  would  never  suspect 
till  they  struck  the  blow.  All  the  necessary  con- 
ditions are  fulfilled  by  this  view  of  the  case, 
whereas  every  other  view — every  other  view,  mind 
you,  Mr.  Cromarty — is  confronted  with  these  dif- 
ficulties : — no  robbery,  no  definite  evidence  of  en- 
try, no  explanation  of  Sir  Reginald's  extraordi- 
nary silence  when  the  man  appeared,  no  bad 
characters  in  the  neighbourhood,  and,  above  all, 
no  motive." 

At  the  end  of  this  speech  Simon  shut  his  mouth 
tight  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  For  a  moment 
it  seemed  as  though  Ned  Cromarty  was  impressed 
by  the  lawyer's  view  of  the  case.  But  \vhen  he 
replied,  his  voice,  though  deliberate  had  a  fighting 
ring  in  it,  and  his  single  eye,  a  fighting  light. 

"Then  you  propose  to  leave  this  young  couple 
under  the  most  damnable  cloud  of  suspicion  that 
a  man  and  a  woman  could  lie  under — simply 
leave  'em  there,  and  let  that  be  the  end  of  it?" 

Simon  seemed  to  be  divided  between  distaste 
for  this  way  of  putting  the  case,  and  anxiety  still 
to  convince  his  visitor. 

"I  propose  to  avoid  the  painful  family  scandal 
which  further  disclosures  and  more  publicity 
would  almost  certainly  bring  about ;  so  long  as  I 
am  justified  as  Procurator  Fiscal  in  taking  this 
course.  And  until  I  get  more  evidence,  I  am  not 
only  justified  but  forced  to  take  this  course.'* 

Ned  suddenly  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"I'm  no  lawyer,"  said  he,  "but  to  me  you  seem 
to  be  arguing  in  the  damnedest  circle  I  ever  met. 


SIMON 

You  won't  do  anything  because  you  can't  get 
more  evidence.  And  you  won't  look  for  more 
evidence  because  you  don't  want  to  do  anything." 

There  was  more  than  a  hint  of  temper  in 
Simon's  eye  and  his  answer  was  rapped  out 
sharply. 

"I  certainly  do  not  want  to  cause  a  family 
scandal.  I  haven't  said  all  I  could  say  about  Sir 
Malcolm  if  I  were  pressed." 

"Why  not?" 

"I've  told  you.  Suspicion  is  not  evidence,  but 
if  I  do  get  evidence,  those  who  will  suffer  by  it 
had  better  beware !" 

Ned  turned  at  the  door  and  surveyed  him  with 
a  cool  and  caustic  eye. 

"That's  talk,"  he  said,  "and  something  has  got 
to  be  done" 

He  was  gone,  and  Simon  Rattar  was  left 
frowning  at  the  closed  door  behind  him.  The 
frown  remained,  but  became  now  rather  thought- 
ful than  indignant.  Then  he  sprang  up  and  be- 
gan to  pace  the  floor,  deliberately  at  first,  and 
then  more  rapidly  and  with  increasing  agitation. 


XVIII 

£1200 

NED  CROMARTY  had  returned  home  and  was 
going  upstairs,  when  he  heard  a  voice  cry: 

"Ned!" 

The  ancient  stone  stair,  spiralling  up  round  the 
time-worn  pillar  that  seemed  to  have  no  begin- 
ning or  end,  gave  at  intervals  on  to  doors  which 
looked  like  apertures  in  a  cliff.  Through  one  of 
these  he  turned  and  at  the  end  of  a  brief  passage 
came  to  his  sister's  sitting  room.  In  that  mediae- 
val setting  of  ponderous  stone,  it  looked  almost 
fantastic  in  its  daintiness.  It  was  a  small  room 
of  many  cushions  and  many  colours,  its  floor 
covered  with  the  softest  rugs  and  its  walls  with 
innumerable  photographs,  largely  of  country 
houses  where  Miss  Cromarty  had  visited. 

Evidently  she  was  a  lady  accustomed  to  a  com- 
fortable life  in  her  roving  days,  and  her  sitting 
room  seemed  to  indicate  very  distinctly  that  she 
proposed  to  live  up  to  this  high  standard  perma- 
nently. 

"Oh  Neddy  dear,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
something,"  she  began  in  her  brisk  way  and  with 
her  brightest  smile. 

Her  brother,  though  of  a  simple  nature,  was  by 
this  time  aware  that  when  he  was  termed  "Neddy 

143 


144  SIMON 

dear"  the  conversation  was  apt  to  turn  on  Miss 
Cromarty's  requirements. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "how  much  is  the  cheque  to  be 
this  time?" 

"How  clever  you're  getting!"  she  laughed. 
"But  it  isn't  a  cheque  I  want  this  time.  It's  only 
a  motor  car." 

He  looked  at  her  doubtfully  for  a  moment. 

"Pulling  my  leg;  or  a  real  car?" 

"Real  car  of  course — nice  one  too!" 

"But,  my  dear  girl,  we've  just  put  down  our 
car.  You  agreed  it  was  necessary." 

"I  agreed  then;  but  it  isn't  necessary  now." 

"Have  you  come  into  a  fortune?    I  haven't!" 

"You've  come  into  £1200." 

Again  he  looked  at  her,  and  this  time  his  ex- 
pression changed. 

"That's  only  a  debt  wiped  out." 

"Well,  and  your  great  argument  for  economy 
was  that  you  had  to  pay  back  that  debt.  Now 
you  haven't.  See,  Neddy  dear?" 

Her  brother  began  to  shake  his  head,  and  her 
smile  became  a  little  less  bright. 

"I  don't  want  to  get  my  affairs  into  a  tangle 
again  just  yet." 

"But  they  weren't  in  a  bad  tangle.  Cancelling 
that  debt  makes  us  absolutely  all  right  again.  It's 
absurd  for  people  like  us  not  to  have  a  car !  Look 
at  the  distances  from  our  neighbours !  One  can't 
go  anywhere.  I'll  undertake  to  keep  down  the 
household  expenses  if  you  get  the  car." 

Her  brother  frowned  out  of  the  window. 


£1200 

"No,"  he  said,  "it's  too  soon  to  get  a  car  again." 

"But  you  told  me  you  had  got  part  of  that 
£1200  in  hand  and  hoped  to  make  up  the  rest 
very  soon.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the 
money  now?" 

He  glanced  at  her  over  his  shoulder  for  an  in- 
stant and  then  his  mouth  assumed  a  grim  and  ob- 
stinate look  she  knew  too  well. 

"I  may  need  the  money,"  he  said  briefly.  "And 
I'm  not  much  in  the  mood  at  this  moment  for 
buying  things." 

Behind  his  back  Lilian  made  a  little  grimace. 
Then  in  a  tone  of  sisterly  expostulation  she  said : 

"You  are  worrying  too  much  over  this  affair, 
Ned.  You've  done  all  you  can — " 

He  interrupted  her  brusquely: 

"And  it's  dashed  little !  What  have  I  actually 
done?  Nothing!  One  needs  a  better  man  than 
me." 

"Well,  there's  your  friend  Silent  Simon,  and 
all  the  police — " 

"A  fat  lot  of  good  they  are !"  said  Ned. 

His  sister  looked  a  little  surprised  at  his  un- 
usual shortness  of  temper.  To  her  he  was  very 
rarely  like  this. 

"You  need  a  good  day's  shooting  to  take  your 
mind  off  it  for  a  little,"  she  suggested. 

He  turned  upon  her  hotly. 

"Do  you  know  the  story  that's  going  about, 
Lilian?" 

"Sir  Malcolm  and  the  Farmond  girl?  Oh, 
rather,"  she  nodded. 


146  SIMON 

"Is  that  how  it  strikes  you?" 

Lilian  Cromarty  jumped.  There  was  some- 
thing very  formidable  in  her  brother's  voice. 

"My  dear  Ned,  don't  frighten  me !  Eat  me  if 
you  like,  but  eat  me  quietly.  I  didn't  say  I  be- 
lieved the  story." 

"I  hope  not,"  he  said  in  the  same  grim  tone, 
"but  do  you  mean  to  say  it  doesn't  strike  you  as 
the  damnedest  slander  ever  spread?" 

"Between  myself  I  hadn't  called  it  the 
'damnedest'  anything.  But  how  do  I  know 
whether  it's  a  slander?" 

"You  actually  think  it  might  conceivably  be 
true?" 

She  shrugged  her  well-gowned  shoulders. 

"I  never  could  stand  Malcolm  Cromarty — a 
conceited  little  jackanapes.  He  hasn't  a  penny 
and  he  was  head  over  ears  in  debt." 

It  was  his  turn  to  start. 

"Was  he?" 

"Oh,  rather !  Didn't  you  know  ?  Owed  monev 
everywhere." 

"But  such  a  crime  as  that!" 

"A  man  with  ties  and  hair  like  his  is  capable 
of  anything.  You  know  quite  well  yourself  he  is 
a  rotter." 

"Anyhow  you  can't  believe  Cicely  Farmond 
had  anything  to  do  with  it?" 

Again  she  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"My  dear  Ned,  I'm  not  a  detective.  A  pretty 
face  is  no  proof  a  woman  is  a  saint.  I  told  you 


£1200  147 

before  that  there  was  generally  something  in  the 
blood  in  those  cases." 

As  he  stared  at  her,  it  seemed  as  though  her 
words  had  indeed  rushed  back  to  his  memory, 
and  that  they  hit  him  hard. 

"People  don't  say  that,  do  they?"  he  asked  in 
a  low  voice. 

"Really,  Ned,  I  don't  know  everything  people 
say:  but  they  are  not  likely  to  overlook  much  in 
such  a  case." 

He  stood  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

"She — I  mean  they've  both  got  to  be 
cleared!"  he  said,  and  strode  out  of  the  room. 


XIX 

THE  EMPTY  COMPARTMENT 

IT  was  on  this  same  evening  that  Superintend- 
ent Sutherland  was  almost  rewarded  for  his  vigil- 
ance by  having  something  distinctly  suspicious  to 
report.  As  it  happened,  it  proved  a  disappoint- 
ing incident,  but  it  gave  the  superintendent  some- 
thing to  think  about. 

He  was  going  a  few  stations  down  the  line  to 
investigate  a  rumour  of  a  suspicious  person  seen 
in  that  neighbourhood.  It  was  a  vague  and  im- 
probable rumour  and  the  superintendent  was  set- 
ting out  merely  as  a  matter  of  form,  and  to  dem- 
onstrate his  vigilance  and  almost  abnormal  sense 
of  duty.  Darkness  had  already  fallen  for  an 
hour  or  two  when  he  strode  with  dignified  gait 
down  the  platform,  exchanging  a  greeting  with 
an  acquaintance  or  two,  till  he  came  to  the  front 
carriage  of  the  train.  He  threw  open  the  door  of 
the  rear  compartment,  saw  that  it  was  empty, 
and  was  just  going  to  enter  when  glancing  over 
his  shoulder  he  perceived  his  own  cousin  Mr. 
MacAlister  upon  the  platform.  Closing  the  door, 
he  stepped  down  again  and  greeted  him. 

Mr.  MacAlister  hailed  him  with  even  more 
than  usual  friendliness,  and  after  a  few  polite 
preliminaries  drew  him  insidiously  towards  the 

148 


THE  EMPTY  COMPARTMENT          149 

far  side  of  the  platform.  An  intelligent,  invet- 
erate and  persevering  curiosity  was  Mr.  Mac- 
Alister's  dominating  characteristic,  and  as  soon 
as  he  had  got  his  distinguished  kinsman  out  of 
earshot  of  the  herd,  he  inquired  in  a  hushed  voice : 

"And  what's  doing  aboot  the  murder  noo, 
George?" 

The  superintendent  pursed  his  lips  and  shook 
his  head. 

"Aye,  man,  yon's  a  proper  puzzle,"  said  he. 

"But  you'll  have  gotten  a  guid  idea  whae's 
din  it  by  noo,  George?"  said  Mr.  MacAlister 
persuasively. 

"Weel,"  admitted  the  superintendent,  we 
maybe  have  our  notions,  but  there's  no  evidence 
yet,  Robbie;  that's  the  fair  truth.  As  the  fiscal 
says,  there's  no  evidence." 

"I'd  like  fine  to  hae  a  crack  wi'  you  aboot  it, 
George,"  sighed  Mr.  MacAlister.  "I  may  tell 
you  I've  notions  of  ma  own;  no  bad  notions 
either." 

"Well,"  said  the  superintendent,  moving  off, 
"I'd  have  enjoyed  a  crack  myself  if  it  wasna  that 
I've  got  to  be  off  by  this  train — " 

"Man!"  cried  his  kinsman,  "I'm  for  off  by  her 
mysel' !  Come  on,  we'll  hae  our  crack  yet." 

The  tickets  had  already  been  taken  and  the 
doors  were  closed  as  the  two  recrossed  the  plat- 
form. 

"This  carriage  is  empty,"  said  the  superintend- 
ent, and  threw  open  the  door  of  the  same  com- 
partment he  had  almost  entered  before. 


150  SIMON 

But  it  was  not  empty  now.  In  one  of  the  fur- 
ther corners  sat  a  man  wrapped  in  a  dark  col- 
oured ulster.  A  black  felt  hat  was  drawn  down 
over  his  eyes,  and  his  muffled  face  was  resting  on 
his  hand.  So  much  the  superintendent  saw  in  the 
brief  moment  during  which  he  stood  at  the  open 
door,  and  it  struck  him  at  once  that  the  man  must 
be  suffering  from  toothache.  And  then  his  cousin 
caught  him  by  the  arm  and  drew  him  back. 

"Here,  man,  the  carriage  next  door  is  empty!" 
cried  he,  and  the  superintendent  closed  the  door 
and  followed  him. 

It  was  scarcely  more  than  a  minute  later  when 
the  whistle  blew  and  they  were  off,  and  Mr.  Mac- 
Alister  took  out  his  pipe  and  prepared  himself 
to  receive  official  confidences.  But  the  miles  went 
by,  and  though  he  plied  his  questions  incessantly 
and  skilfully,  no  confidences  were  forthcoming. 
The  superintendent,  in  fact,  had  something  else 
to  think  about.  All  at  once  he  asked  abruptly: 

''Robbie,  did  ye  see  yon  man  next  door  sitting 
with  his  face  in  his  hands?" 

"Aye,"  said  Mr.  MacAlister,  "I  noticed  the 
man." 

"Did  ye  ken  who  he  was?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  MacAlister,  "I  did  not." 

"Had  ye  seen  him  on  the  platform?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  MacAlister,  "I  had  not." 

"I  didna  see  him  myself,"  said  the  superin- 
tendent musingly.  "It  seems  funny-like  a  man 
dressed  like  yon  and  with  his  face  wrapped  up 
too — and  a  man  forbye  that's  a  stranger  to  us 


THE  EMPTY  COMPARTMENT          151 

both,  coming  along  the  platform  and  getting  into 
that  carriage,  and  me  not  noticing  him.  I'm  not 
used  not  to  notice  people,  Robbie." 

"It's  your  business,  George,"  said  Mr.  Mac- 
Alister,  and  then  as  he  gazed  at  his  cousin's 
thoughtful  face,  his  own  grew  suddenly  ani- 
mated. 

"You're  not  thinking  he's  to  dae  wi'  the  mur- 
der, are  you!"  he  cried. 

"I'm  not  sure  what  to  think  till  I've  had  an- 
other look  into  yon  carriage,"  said  the  superin- 
tendent cautiously. 

"We're  slowing  doon  the  noo !"  cried  Mr.  Mac- 
Alister,  "God,  George,  I'll  come  and  hae  a  look 
wi'  you !" 

The  train  was  hardly  in  the  platform  before 
the  superintendent  was  out,  with  Mr.  MacAlister 
after  him,  and  the  door  of  the  next  compartment 
was  open  almost  as  soon  as  the  train  was  at  rest. 
Never  had  the  superintendent  been  more  vigi- 
lant; and  never  had  his  honest  face  looked 
blanker. 

"God!    It's  empty!"  he  murmured. 

"God  save  us!"  murmured  Mr.  MacAlister, 
and  then  he  was  visited  by  an  inspiration  which 
struck  his  relative  afterwards  as  one  of  the  un- 
happiest  he  had  ever  suffered  from.  "This  canna 
be  the  richt  carriage!"  he  cried.  "Come  on, 
Geordie,  let's  hae  a  look  in  the  ithers!" 

By  the  time  they  had  looked  into  all  the  com- 
partments of  the  carriage,  the  guard  was  waving 
his  flag  and  the  two  men  climbed  hurriedly  in 


152  SIMON 

again.  The  brooding  silence  of  the  superintend- 
ent infected  even  Mr.  MacAlister,  and  neither 
spoke  for  several  minutes.  Then  the  superin- 
tendent said  bitterly: 

"It  was  you  hurrying  me  off  to  look  in  thae 
other  carriages,  Robbie!" 

"What  was?"  inquired  Mr.  MacAlister  a  little 
nervously. 

"I  ought  to  have  stopped  and  looked  under  the 
seats!" 

Mr.  MacAlister  shook  his  head  and  declared 
firmly: 

"There  was  naething  under  the  seats.  I  could 
see  that  fine.  And  onyhow  we  can  hae  a  look  at 
the  next  stop." 

"As  if  he'll  be  waiting  for  us,  now  he  kens  we're 
looking  for  him!" 

"But  there  was  naething  there!"  persisted  Mr. 
MacAlister. 

"Then  what's  come  over  the  man?  Here  were 
we  sitting  next  the  platform.  He  can't  have  got 
out  afore  we  started,  or  we'd  have  seen  him. 
Folks  don't  disappear  into  the  air!  I'll  try  under 
the  seats,  though  I  doubt  the  man  will  have  been 
up  and  out  while  we  were  wasting  our  time  in  yon 
other  carriages." 

At  the  next  station  they  searched  that  mys- 
terious compartment  earnestly  and  thoroughly, 
but  there  was  not  a  sign  of  the  muffled  stranger, 
under  the  seats  or  anywhere  else.  Again  the 
superintendent  was  silent  for  a  space,  and  then  he 
said  confidentially: 


153 

"I'm  just  wondering  if  it's  worth  while  report- 
ing the  thing,  Robbie.  The  fiscal  might  have  a 
kin'  of  unpleasant  way  of  looking  at  it.  Besides, 
there's  really  naething  to  report.  Anyhow  I'll 
think  it  over.  And  that  being  the  case,  the  less 
said  the  better.  I  can  tell  ye  all  that's  known 
about  the  case,  Robbie;  knowing  that  you'll  be 
discreet." 

"Oh,  you  can  trust  me,"  said  Mr.  MacAlister 
earnestly, — "I'll  no  breathe  a  word  o'  yon  man. 
Weel,  now,  you  were  saying  you'd  tell  me  the 
haill  story." 

By  this  judicious  arrangement  Mr.  MacAlister 
got  his  money's  worth  of  sensational  disclosures, 
and  the  superintendent  was  able  to  use  his  discre- 
tion and  think  the  incident  over.  He  thought 
over  it  very  hard  and  finally  decided  that  he  was 
demonstrating  his  vigilance  quite  sufficiently 
without  mentioning  the  trifling  mystery  of  the 
empty  compartment. 


XX 

THE  SPORTING  VISITOR 

IN  summer  and  autumn,  visitors  were  not 
uncommon  in  this  remote  countryside;  mostly 
shooting  or  fishing  people  who  rented  the  coun- 
try houses,  raised  the  local  prices,  and  were  de- 
scribed by  the  tradesmen  as  benefiting  the  county 
greatly.  But  in  late  autumn  and  winter  this 
fertilising  stream  ceased  to  flow,  and  when  the 
trains  from  the  south  crawled  in,  the  porters  and 
the  boots  from  the  hotels  resigned  themselves  to 
welcoming  a  merely  commercial  form  of  trav- 
eller. 

It  was  therefore  with  considerable  pleasure  and 
surprise  that  they  observed  one  afternoon  an  un- 
mistakeably  sporting  gentleman  descend  from  a 
first  class  compartment  and  survey  them  with  a 
condescending  yet  aff  able  eye. 

"Which  is  the  best  of  these  hotels?"  he  de- 
manded with  an  amiable  smile,  as  he  surveyed 
through  a  single  eye-glass  the  names  on  the  caps 
of  the  various  boots. 

His  engaging  air  disarmed  the  enquiry  of  em- 
barrassment, and  even  when  he  finally  selected 
the  Kings  Arms  Hotel,  the  other  boots  merely 
felt  regret  that  they  had  not  secured  so  promising 
a  client.  His  luggage  confirmed  the  first  f avour- 

154 


THE  SPORTING  VISITOR  155 

able  impression.  It  included  a  gun  case,  a  bag  of 
golf  clubs,  and  one  or  two  handsome  leather  ar- 
ticles. Evidently  he  meant  to  make  more  than  a 
passing  visit,  and  as  he  strolled  down  the  plat- 
form, his  leisurely  nonchalant  air  and  something 
even  in  the  way  in  which  he  smoked  his  cigarette, 
in  its  amber  holder,  suggested  a  gentleman  who, 
having  arrived  here,  was  in  no  hurry  to  move  on. 
On  a  luggage  label  the  approving  boots  noted  the 
name  of  "F.  T.  Carrington." 

When  he  arrived  at  the  Kings  Arms,  Mr.  Car- 
rington continued  to  produce  favourable  impres- 
sions. He  was  a  young  man,  apparently  a  little 
over  thirty,  above  middle  height,  with  a  round, 
ingenuous,  very  agreeable  face,  smooth  fair  hair, 
a  little,  neatly  trimmed  moustache,  and  a  monocle 
that  lent  just  the  necessary  touch  of  distinction  to 
what  might  otherwise  have  been  a  too  good-hu- 
moured physiognomy.  His  tweed  suit  was  fash- 
ionably cut  and  of  a  distinctly  sportive  pattern, 
and  he  wore  a  pair  of  light  spats.  In  short,  there 
could  be  no  mistaking  him  for  anything  but  a 
gentleman  of  position  and  leisure  with  strong 
sporting  proclivities,  and  his  manner  amply  con- 
firmed this.  It  was  in  fact  almost  indolent  in  its 
leisurely  ease. 

Miss  Peterkin,  the  capable  manageress  of  the 
Kings  Arms,  was  at  first  disposed  to  think  Mr. 
Carrington  a  trifle  too  superior,  and,  as  she 
termed  it,  "la-de-da,"  but  a  very  few  minutes' 
conversation  with  the  gentleman  completely  re- 
assured her.  He  was  so  polite  and  so  good-hu- 


156  SIMON 

moured  and  so  ready  to  be  pleased  with  every- 
thing he  saw  and  anything  she  suggested,  that 
they  became  firm  friends  within  ten  minutes  of 
his  arrival,  and  after  Mr.  Carrington  had  dis- 
posed of  his  luggage  in  the  bedroom  and  private 
sitting  room  which  he  engaged,  and  partaken  of 
a  little  dinner,  she  found  herself  welcoming  him 
into  her  own  sitting  room  where  a  few  choice 
spirits  nightly  congregated. 

It  is  true  that  these  spirits,  though  choice,  were 
hardly  of  what  she  called  Mr.  Carrington's  "class," 
but  then  in  all  her  experience  she  had  never  met  a 
gentleman  of  such  fashion  and  such  a  superior 
air,  who  adapted  himself  so  charmingly  to  any 
society.  In  fact,  "charming"  was  the  very  ad- 
jective for  him,  she  decided. 

About  his  own  business  he  was  perfectly  frank. 
He  had  heard  of  the  sporting  possibilities  of  the 
county  and  had  come  to  look  out  for  a  bit  of  fish- 
ing or  shooting;  preferably  fishing,  for  it  seemed 
he  was  an  enthusiastic  angler.  Of  course,  it  was 
too  late  in  the  season  for  any  fishing  this  year, 
but  he  was  looking  ahead  as  he  preferred  to  see 
things  for  himself  instead  of  trusting  to  an 
agent's  description.  He  had  brought  his  gun  just 
on  the  chance  of  getting  a  day  somewhere,  and 
his  club  in  case  there  happened  to  be  a  golf  links. 
In  short,  he  seemed  evidently  to  be  a  young  man 
of  means  who  lived  for  sport;  and  what  other 
question  could  one  ask  about  such  a  satisfactory 
type  of  visitor?  Absolutely  none,  in  Miss  Peter- 
kin's  opinion. 


THE  SPORTING  VISITOR  157 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  found  very  early  in  the 
evening,  and  continued  to  find  thereafter,  that  the 
most  engaging  feature  of  Mr.  Carrington's  char- 
acter was  the  interest  he  took  in  other  people's 
business,  so  that  the  conversation  very  quickly 
strayed  away  from  his  own  concerns — and  re- 
mained away.  It  was  not  that  he  showed  any 
undue  curiosity;  far  from  it.  He  was  simply  so 
sympathetic  and  such  a  good  listener  and  put 
questions  that  showed  he  was  following  every- 
thing you  said  to  him  in  a  wray  that  really  very  few 
people  did.  And,  moreover,  in  spite  of  his  engag- 
ing frankness,  there  was  an  indefinable  air  of  dis- 
cretion about  him  that  made  one  feel  safe  to  tell 
him  practically  everything.  She  herself  told  him 
the  sad  story  of  her  brother  in  Australia  (a  tale 
which,  as  a  rule,  she  told  only  to  her  special  inti- 
mates) before  he  had  been  in  her  room  half  an 
hour. 

But  with  the  arrival  of  three  or  four  choice 
spirits,  the  conversation  became  more  general, 
and  it  was  naturally  not  long  before  it  turned  on 
the  greatest  local  sensation  and  mystery  within 
the  memory  of  man — the  Cromarty  murder.  Mr. 
Carrington's  surprise  was  extreme  when  he  real- 
ised that  he  was  actually  in  the  county  where  the 
tragedy  had  occurred,  within  a  very  few  miles  of 
the  actual  spot,  in  fact.  Of  course,  he  had  read 
about  it  in  the  papers,  but  only  cursorily,  it 
seemed,  and  he  had  no  idea  he  was  coming  into 
the  identical  district  that  had  acquired  such  a 
sinister  notoriety. 


158  SIMON 

"By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed  more  than  once  when 
he  had  made  this  discovery,  "I  say,  how  interest- 
ing!" 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Peterkin  with  becoming  pride^ 
"we  are  getting  quite  famous,  I  can  assure  you, 
Mr.  Carrington." 

"Rather  so!"  cried  he,  "I've  read  quite  a  lot 
about  this  Carnegie  case — " 

"Cromarty,"  corrected  one  of  the  spirits. 

"Cromarty,  of  course,  I  mean!  I'm  rather  an 
ass  at  names,  I'm  afraid."  The  young  man 
smiled  brightly  and  all  the  spirits  sympathised. 
"Oh  yes,  I've  seen  it  reported  in  the  papers. 
And  now  to  think  here  I  am  in  the  middle  of  it, 
by  George!  How  awfully  interesting!  I  say, 
Miss  Peterkin,  what  about  these  gentlemen  hav- 
ing another  wee  droppie  with  me,  all  round,  just 
to  celebrate  the  occasion?" 

With  such  an  appreciative  and  hospitable  audi- 
ence, Miss  Peterkin  and  the  choice  spirits  spent  a 
long  and  delightful  evening  in  retailing  every 
known  circumstance  of  the  drama,  and  several 
that  were  certainly  unknown  to  the  authorities. 
He  was  vastly  interested,  though  naturally  very 
shocked,  to  hear  who  was  commonly  suspected  of 
the  crime. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  his  own  heir — and  a 
young  girl  like  that — ?  By  Jove,  I  say,  how 
dreadful!"  he  exclaimed,  and,  in  fact,  he  would 
hardly  believe  such  a  thing  conceivable  until  all 
the  choice  spirits  in  turn  had  assured  him  that 
there  was  practically  no  doubt  about  it. 


THE  SPORTING  VISITOR  159 

The  energetic  part  played  by  Mr.  Simon  Rat- 
tar  in  unravelling  the  dark  skein,  or  at  least  in 
trying  to,  was  naturally  described  at  some  length, 
and  Mr.  Carrington  showed  his  usual  sympa- 
thetic, and,  one  might  almost  say,  entranced  ap- 
preciation of  the  many  facts  told  him  concerning 
that  local  celebrity. 

Finally  Miss  Peterkin  insisted  on  getting  out 
the  back  numbers  of  the  local  paper  giving  the 
full  details  of  the  case,  and  with  many  thanks  he 
took  these  off  to  read  before  he  went  to  bed. 

"But  mind  you  don't  give  yourself  the  creeps 
and  keep  yourself  from  going  to  sleep,  Mr.  Car- 
rington!" she  warned  him  with  the  last  words. 

"By  Jove,  that's  an  awful  thought!"  he  ex- 
claimed, and  then  his  eyes  twinkled.  "Send  me 
up  another  whisky  and  soda  to  cure  the  creeps!" 
said  he. 

Miss  Peterkin  thought  he  was  quite  one  of  the 
pleasantest,  and  promised  to  be  one  of  the  most 
profitable  gentlemen  she  had  met  for  a  very  long 
time. 

Next  morning  he  assured  her  he  had  kept  the 
creeps  at  bay  sufficiently  to  enjoy  an  excellent 
night's  sleep  in  a  bed  that  did  the  management 
credit.  In  fact,  he  had  thoroughly  enjoyed  read- 
ing the  mystery  and  had  even  begun  to  feel  some 
curiosity  to  see  the  scene  of  the  tragedy.  He  pro- 
posed to  have  a  few  walks  and  drives  through  the 
neighbouring  country,  he  said,  looking  at  its 
streams  and  lochs  with  an  eye  to  sporting  possi- 
bilities, and  it  would  be  interesting  to  be  able  to 


160  SIMON 

recognise  Keldale  House  if  he  chanced  to  pass 
near  it. 

Miss  Peterkin  told  him  which  road  led  to  Kel- 
dale and  how  the  house  might  be  recognised,  and 
suggested  that  he  should  walk  out  that  way  this 
very  morning.  He  seemed  a  little  doubtful; 
spoke  of  his  movements  as  things  that  depended 
very  much  on  the  whim  of  the  moment,  just  as 
such  an  easy-going  young  man  would  be  apt  to 
do,  and  rather  indicated  that  a  shorter  walk  would 
suit  him  better  that  morning. 

And  then  a  few  minutes  later  she  saw  him 
saunter  past  her  window,  wearing  a  light  gray 
felt  hat  at  a  graceful  angle  and  apparently  tak- 
ing a  sympathetic  interest  in  a  small  boy  trying 
to  mount  a  bicycle. 


XXI 

MR.  CARRINGTON'S  WALK 

MR.  CARRINGTON'S  easy  saunter  lasted  till  he 
had  turned  out  of  the  street  on  which  the  Kings 
Arms  stood,  when  it  passed  into  an  easy  walk^ 
Though  he  had  seemed,  on  the  whole,  disinclined 
to  go  in  the  Keldale  direction  that  morning, 
nevertheless  he  continued  to  head  that  way 
till  at  last  he  was  on  the  high  road  with  the 
little  town  behind  him ;  and  then  his  pace  altered 
again.  He  stepped  out  now  like  the  sportsman 
he  was,  and  was  doing  a  good  four  miles  an  hour 
by  the  time  he  was  out  of  sight  of  the  last  houses. 

For  a  man  who  had  come  out  to  gather  ideas 
as  to  the  sporting  possibilities  of  the  country,  Mr. 
Carrington  seemed  to  pay  singularly  little  atten- 
tion to  his  surroundings.  He  appeared,  in  fact,  to 
be  thinking  about  something  else  all  the  time,  and 
the  first  sign  of  interest  he  showed  in  anything 
outside  his  thoughts  was  when  he  found  himself 
within  sight  of  the  lodge  gates  of  Keldale  House, 
with  the  avenue  sweeping  away  from  the  road 
towards  the  roofs  and  chimneys  amid  the  trees. 
At  the  sight  of  this  he  stopped,  and  leaning  over 
the  low  wall  at  the  road  side  gazed  with  much  in- 
terest at  the  scene  of  the  tragedy  he  had  heard 
so  much  of  last  night.  The  choice  spirits,  had 

161 


162  SIMON 

they  been  there  to  see,  would  have  been  gratified 
to  find  that  their  graphic  narratives  had  sent  this 
indolent  looking  gentleman  to  view  the  spot  so 
swiftly. 

From  the  house  and  grounds  his  eye  travelled 
back  to  the  road  and  then  surveyed  the  surround- 
ing country  very  attentively.  He  even  stood  on 
top  of  the  wall  to  get  a  wider  view ;  and  then  all 
of  a  sudden  he  jumped  down  again  and  adopted 
the  reverse  procedure,  bending  now  so  that  little 
more  than  his  head  appeared  above  the  wall. 
And  the  reason  for  this  change  of  plan  appeared 
to  be  a  figure  which  had  emerged  from  the  trees 
and  began  to  move  along  a  path  between  the 
fields. 

Mr.  Carrington  studied  this  figure  with  con- 
centrated attention,  and  as  it  drew  nearer  and 
became  more  distinct,  a  light  leapt  into  his  eye 
that  gave  him  a  somewhat  different  expression 
from  any  his  acquaintances  of  last  night  had  ob- 
served. He  saw  that  the  path  followed  a  small 
stream  and  ran  at  an  angle  to  the  high  road, 
joining  it  at  last  at  a  point  some  little  distance 
back  towards  the  town.  He  looked  quickly  up 
and  down  the  road.  Not  a  soul  was  in  sight  to 
see  his  next  very  curious  performance.  The  leis- 
urely Mr.  Carrington  crossed  to  the  further  side, 
where  he  was  invisible  from  the  path,  and  then  set 
out  to  run  at  a  rapid  pace  till  he  reached  the  junc- 
tion of  path  and  road.  And  then  he  turned  down 
the  path. 

But  now  his  bearing  altered  again  in  a  very  ex- 


MR.  CARRINGTON'S  WALK  163 

traordinary  way.  His  gait  fell  once  more  to  a 
saunter  and  his  angling  enthusiasm  seemed  sud- 
denly to  have  returned,  for  he  frequently  studied 
the  burn  as  he  strolled  along,  and  there  was  no 
sign  of  any  thoughtfulness  on  his  ingenuous  coun- 
tenance. There  were  a  few  willows  beside  the 
path,  and  the  path  itself  meandered,  and  this  was 
doubtless  thg  reason  why  he  appeared  entirely 
unconscious  of  the  approach  of  another  foot  pas- 
senger till  they  were  within  a  few  yards  of  one 
another.  And  then  Mr.  Carrington  stopped  sud- 
denly, seemed  to  hesitate,  pulled  out  his  watch 
and  glanced  at  it,  and  then  with  an  apologetic  air 
raised  his  hat. 

The  other  foot  passenger  was  face  to  face  with 
him  now,  a  slim  figure  in  black,  with  a  sweet,  seri- 
ous face. 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Mr.  Carrington,  "but  can 
you  tell  me  where  this  path  leads?" 

He  was  so  polite  and  so  evidently  anxious  to 
give  no  offence,  and  his  face  was  such  a  certifi- 
cate to  his  amiable  character  that  the  girl  stopped 
too  and  answered  without  hesitation: 

"It  leads  to  Keldale  House." 

"Keldale  House?"  he  repeated,  and  then  the 
idea  seemed  to  arouse  associations.  "By  Jove!" 
he  exclaimed.  "Really?  I'm  an  utter  stranger 
here,  but  isn't  that  the  place  where  the  murder 
took  place?" 

Had  Mr.  Carrington  been  a  really  observant 
man,  one  would  think  he  would  have  noticed  the 
sudden  change  of  expression  in  the  girl's  face — as 


164  SIMON 

if  he  had  aroused  painful  thoughts.  He  did  seem 
to  look  at  her  for  an  instant  as  he  asked  the  ques- 
tion, but  then  turned  his  gaze  towards  the  distant 
glimpse  of  the  house. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured  and  looked  as  though  she 
wanted  to  pass  on;  but  Mr.  Carrington  seemed  so 
excited  by  his  discovery  that  he  never  noticed  this 
and  still  stood  right  in  her  path. 

"How  very  interesting!"  he  murmured.  "By 
Jove,  how  very  interesting!"  And  then  with  the 
air  of  passing  on  a  still  more  interesting  piece  of 
news,  he  said  suddenly,  "I  hear  they  have  arrested 
Sir  Malcolm  Cromarty." 

This  time  he  kept  his  monocle  full  on  her. 

"Arrested  him!"  she  cried.     "What  for?" 

This  question,  put  with  the  most  palpable  won- 
der, seemed  to  disconcert  Mr.  Carrington  con- 
siderably. He  even  hesitated  in  a  very  unusual 
way  for  him. 

"For — for  the  murder,  of  course." 

Her  eyes  opened  very  wide. 

"For  Sir  Reginald's  murder?  How  ridicu- 
lous!" 

Again  Mr.  Carrington  seemed  a  little  discon- 
certed. 

"Er — why  is  it  ridiculous?"  he  asked.  "Of 
course,  I — I  know  nothing  about  the  gentle- 
man." 

"Evidently!"  she  agreed  with  reproach  in  her 
eyes.  "If  Sir  Malcolm  really  has  been  arrested, 
it  can  only  have  been  for  something  quite  silly. 
He  couldn't  commit  a  murder!" 


MR.  CARRINGTON'S  WALK  165 

The  fact  that  this  tribute  to  the  baronet's  in- 
nocence was  not  wholly  devoid  of  a  flavour  of 
criticism  seemed  to  strike  Mr.  Carrington,  for 
his  eye  twinkled  for  an  instant. 

"You  are  acquainted  with  him  then?"  said  he. 

"I  am  staying  at  Keldale;  in  fact,  I  am  a  rela- 
tion." 

There  was  no  doubt  of  her  intention  to  rebuke 
the  too  garrulous  gentleman  by  this  information, 
and  it  succeeded  completely.  He  passed  at  once 
to  the  extreme  of  apology. 

"Oh!  I  beg  your  pardon!"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
had  no  idea.  Really,  I  hope  you  will  accept  my 
apologies,  Miss — er — Cromarty." 

"Miss  Farmond,"  she  corrected. 

"Miss  Farmond,  I  mean.  It  was  frightfully 
tactless  of  me!" 

He  said  it  so  nicely  and  looked  so  innocently 
guilty  and  so  contrite,  that  her  look  lost  its  touch 
of  indignation. 

"I  still  can't  understand  what  you  mean  about 
Sir  Malcolm  being  arrested,"  she  said.  "How  did 
you  hear?" 

"Oh,  I  was  very  likely  misinformed.  An  old 
fellow  at  the  hotel  last  night  was  saying  so." 

Her  eye  began  to  grow  indignant  again. 

"What  old  fellow?" 

"Red  hair,  shaky  knees,  bit  of  a  stammer,  an- 
swers to  the  name  of  Sandy,  I  believe." 

"Old  Sandy  Donaldson!"  she  exclaimed. 
"That  drunken  old  thing!  He  was  simply  talk- 
ing nonsense  as  usual!" 


166  SIMON 

"He  seemed  a  little  in  liquor,"  he  admitted, 
"but  you  see  I  am  a  mere  stranger.  I  didn't 
realise  what  a  loose  authority  I  quoted.  There 
is  nothing  in  the  report,  I  am  certain.  And  this 
path  leads  only  to  Keldale  House?  Thank  you 
very  much.  Good  morning!" 

How  Mr.  Carrington  had  obtained  this  errone- 
ous information  from  a  person  whose  back  he 
had  merely  seen  for  a  couple  of  minutes  the  night 
before,  as  the  reprobate  in  question  was  being 
ejected  from  the  Kings  Arms,  he  did  not  stop  to 
explain.  In  fact,  at  this  point  he  showed  no  in- 
clination to  continue  the  conversation,  but  bowing 
very  politely,  continued  his  stroll. 

But  the  effect  of  the  conversation  on  him  re- 
mained, and  a  very  marked  effect  it  appeared  to 
be.  He  took  no  interest  in  the  burn  any  longer, 
but  paced  slowly  on,  his  eyes  sometimes  on  the 
path  and  sometimes  staring  upwards  at  the 
Heavens.  So  far  as  his  face  revealed  his  sensa- 
tions, they  seemed  to  be  compounded  of  surprise 
and  perplexity.  Several  times  he  shook  his  head 
as  though  some  very  baffling  point  had  cropped 
up  in  his  thoughts,  and  once  he  murmured: 

"I'm  damned!" 

When  the  path  reached  the  policies  of  the 
house,  he  stopped  and  seemed  to  take  some  in- 
terest in  his  surroundings  once  more.  For  a  mo- 
ment it  was  clear  that  he  was  tempted  to  enter 
the  plantations,  and  then  he  shook  his  head  and 
turned  back. 

All  the  way  home  he  remained  immersed  in 


MR.  CARRINGTON'S  WALK  167 

thought  and  only  recovered  his  nonchalant  air  as 
he  entered  the  door  of  the  Kings  Arms.  He  was 
the  same  easy  going,  smiling  young  man  of 
fashion  as  he  passed  the  time  of  day  with  Miss 
Peterkin;  but  when  he  had  shut  the  door  of  his 
private  sitting  room  and  dropped  into  an  easy 
chair  over  the  fire,  he  again  became  so  absorbed 
in  thought  that  he  had  to  be  reminded  that  the 
hour  of  luncheon  had  passed. 

Thought  seemed  to  vanish  during  lunch,  but 
when  he  had  retired  to  his  room  again,  it  re- 
turned for  another  half  hour.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  he  apparently  came  to  a  decision,  and  jump- 
ing up  briskly,  repaired  to  the  manageress'  room. 
And  when  Miss  Peterkin  was  taken  into  his  con- 
fidence, it  appeared  that  the  whole  problem  had 
merely  concerned  the  question  of  taking  either  a 
shooting  or  a  fishing  for  next  season. 

"I  have  been  thinking,"  said  he,  "that  my  best 
plan  will  perhaps  be  to  call  upon  Mr.  Simon  Rat- 
tar  and  see  whether  he  knows  of  anything  to  let. 
I  gather  that  he  is  agent  for  several  estates  in  the 
county.  What  do  you  advise?" 

Miss  Peterkin  decidedly  advised  this  course, 
so  a  few  minutes  later  Mr.  Carrington  strolled 
off  towards  the  lawyer's  office. 


XXII 

MR.  CARRINGTON  AND  THE  FISCAL 

THE  card  handed  in  to  Mr.  Simon  Rattar  con- 
tained merely  the  name  "Mr.  F.  T.  Carrington" 
and  the  address  "Sports  Club."  Simon  gazed  at 
it  cautiously  and  in  silence  for  the  better  part  of 
a  minute,  and  when  he  glanced  up  at  his  head 
clerk  to  tell  him  that  Mr.  Carrington  might  be 
admitted,  Mr.  Ison  was  struck  by  the  curious 
glint  in  his  eye.  It  seemed  to  him  to  indicate  that 
the  fiscal  was  very  wide  awake  at  that  moment ;  it 
struck  him  also  that  Mr.  Rattar  was  not  alto- 
gether surprised  by  the  appearance  of  this  visitor. 

The  agreeable  stranger  began  by  explaining 
very  frankly  that  he  thought  of  renting  a  place 
for  next  season  where  he  could  secure  good  fish- 
ing and  a  little  shooting,  and  wondered  if  any  of 
the  properties  Mr.  Rattar  was  agent  for  would 
suit  him.  Simon  grunted  and  waited  for  this 
overture  to  develop. 

"What  about  Keldale  House?"  the  sporting 
visitor  suggested.  "That's  the  place  where  the 
murder  was  committed,  isn't  it?"  and  then  he 
laughed.  "Your  eye  betrays  you,  Mr.  Rattar  1" 
said  he. 

The  lawyer  seemed  to  start  ever  so  slightly. 

168 


MR.  CARRINGTON  AND  THE  FISCAL     169 

"Indeed?"  he  murmured. 

"Look  here,"  said  Carrington  with  a  candid 
smile,  "let's  put  our  cards  on  the  table.  You 
know  my  business?" 

"Are  you  a  detective?"  asked  the  lawyer. 

Mr.  Carrington  smiled  and  nodded. 

"I  am ;  or  rather  I  prefer  to  call  myself  a  pri- 
vate enquiry  agent.  People  expect  so  much  of  a 
detective,  don't  they?" 

Simon  grunted,  but  made  no  other  comment. 

"In  a  case  like  this,"  continued  Carrington, 
"when  one  is  called  in  weeks  too  late  and  the 
household  broom  and  scrubbing  brush  and  garden 
rake  have  removed  most  of  the  possible  clues,  and 
witnesses'  recollections  have  developed  into  pic- 
turesque legends,  it  is  better  to  rouse  as  few  ex- 
pectations as  possible,  since  it  is  probably  impos- 
sible to  find  anything  out.  However,  in  the 
capacity  of  a  mere  enquiry  agent  I  have  come  to 
pick  up  anything  I  can.  May  I  smoke  ?" 

He  asked  in  his  usual  easy  going  voice  and  with 
his  usual  candid  smile,  and  then  his  eye  was  ar- 
rested by  an  inscription  printed  in  capital  letters, 
and  hung  in  a  handsome  frame  u^on  the  office 
wall.  It  ran: 

"MY  THREE  RULES  OF  LIFE, 

1.  I  DO  NOT  SMOKE. 

2.  I  LAY  BY  A  THIRD  OF  MY  IN- 
COME. 

3.  I    NEVER   RIDE   WHEN    I    CAN 
WALK." 


170  SIMON 

Beneath  these  precepts  appeared  the  litho- 
graphed signature  of  an  eminent  philanthropist, 
but  it  seemed  reasonable  to  assume  that  they  also 
formed  the  guiding  maxims  of  Mr.  Simon  Rattar. 

His  visitor  politely  apologised  for  his  question. 

"I  had  not  noticed  this  warning,"  said  he. 

"Smoke  if  you  like.  My  clients  sometimes  do. 
I  don't  myself,"  said  the  lawyer. 

His  visitor  thanked  him,  placed  a  cigarette  in 
his  amber  holder,  lit  it,  and  let  his  eyes  follow  the 
smoke  upwards. 

Mr.  Rattar,  on  his  part,  seemed  in  his  closest, 
most  taciturn  humour.  His  grunt  and  his  nod 
had,  in  fact,  seldom  formed  a  greater  proportion 
of  his  conversation.  He  made  no  further  com- 
ment at  all  now,  but  waited  in  silence  for  his  vis- 
itor to  proceed. 

"Well,"  resumed  Carrington,  "the  simple  facts 
of  the  case  are  these.  I  have  been  engaged 
through  a  certain  firm  of  London  lawyers,  whose 
name  I  am  not  permitted  to  mention,  on  behalf  of 
a  person  whose  name  I  don't  know." 

At  this  a  flash  of  keen  interest  showed  for  an 
instant  in  Simon's  eye;  and  then  it  became  as  cold 
as  ever  again. 

"Indeed?"  said  he. 

"I  am  allowed  to  incur  expense,"  continued  the 
other,  "up  to  a  certain  figure,  which  is  so  hand- 
some that  it  gives  me  practically  a  free  hand,  so 
far  as  that  is  concerned.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
arrangement  entails  certain  difficulties  which  I 
daresay  you,  Mr.  Rattar,  as  a  lawyer,  and  espe- 


MR.  CARRINGTON  AND  THE  FISCAL     171 

cially  as  a  Procurator  Fiscal  accustomed  to  in- 
vestigate cases  of  crime,  will  readily  understand." 

"Quite  so;  quite  so,"  agreed  Mr.  Rattar,  who 
seemed  to  be  distinctly  relaxing  already  from  his 
guarded  attitude. 

"I  arrived  last  night,  put  up  at  the  Kings 
Arms — where  I  gathered  beforehand  that  the 
local  gossip  could  best  be  collected,  and  in  the 
course  of  the  evening  I  collected  enough  to  hang 
at  least  two  people;  and  in  the  course  of  a  few 
more  evenings  I  shall  probably  have  enough  to 
hang  half  a  dozen — if  one  can  believe,  say,  a 
twentieth  of  what  one  hears.  This  morning  I 
strolled  out  to  Keldale  House  and  had  a  look  at 
it  from  the  road,  and  I  learned  that  it  was  a  large 
mansion  standing  among  trees.  That's  all  I  have 
been  able  to  do  so  far." 

"Nothing  more  than  that?" 

Mr.  Carrington  seemed  to  have  a  singularly 
short  memory. 

"I  think  that's  the  lot,"  said  he.  "And  what  is 
more,  it  seems  to  me  the  sum  total  of  all  I  am 
likely  to  do  without  a  little  assistance  from  some- 
body in  possession  of  rather  more  authentic  facts 
than  my  friend  Miss  Peterkin  and  her  visitors." 

"I  quite  understand,"  said  the  lawyer ;  and  it  was 
plain  that  his  interest  was  now  thoroughly  enlisted. 

"Well,"  continued  Mr.  Carrington,  "I  thought 
things  over,  and  rightly  or  wrongly,  I  came  to 
this  decision.  My  employer,  whoever  he  is,  has 
made  it  an  absolute  condition  that  his  name  is  not 
to  be  known.  His  reasons  may  have  been  the  best 


173  SIMON 

imaginable,  but  it  obviously  made  it  impossible 
for  me  to  get  any  information  out  of  him.  For 
my  own  reasons  I  always  prefer  to  make  my  en- 
quiries in  these  cases  in  the  guise  of  an  unsus- 
pected outsider,  whenever  it  is  possible;  and  it 
happens  to  be  particularly  possible  in  this  case, 
since  nobody  here  knows  me  from  Adam.  But  I 
must  get  facts — as  distinguished  from  the  Kings 
Arms'  gossip,  and  how  was  I  to  get  them  with- 
out giving  myself  away?  That  was  the  problem, 
and  I  soon  realised  that  it  was  insoluble.  I  saw 
I  must  confide  in  somebody,  and  so  I  came  to  the 
decision  to  confide  in  you." 

Simon  nodded  and  made  a  sound  that  seemed 
to  indicate  distinctly  his  opinion  that  Mr.  Car- 
rington  had  come  to  a  sensible  decision. 

"You  were  the  obvious  person  for  several  rea- 
sons," resumed  Carrington.  "In  the  first  place 
you  could  pretty  safely  be  regarded  as  above  sus- 
picion yourself — if  you  will  pardon  my  associat- 
ing even  the  word  suspicion  with  a  Procurator 
Fiscal."  He  smiled  his  most  agreeable  smile  and 
the  Fiscal  allowed  his  features  to  relax  sympa- 
thetically. "In  the  second  place  you  know  more 
about  the  case  than  anybody  else.  And  in  the 
third  place,  I  gather  that  you  are — if  I  may  say 
so,  a  gentleman  of  unusual  discretion." 

Again  he  smiled  pleasantly,  and  again  Mr. 
Rattar's  features  relaxed. 

"Finally,"  added  Carrington,  "I  thought  it 
long  odds  that  you  were  either  actually  my  em- 
ployer or  acting  for  him,  and  therefore  I  should 


MR.  CARRINGTON  AND  THE  FISCAL     173 

be  giving  nothing  away  by  telling  you  my  busi- 
ness. And  when  I  mentioned  Keldale  House  and 
the  murder  I  saw  that  I  was  right!" 

He  laughed,  and  Simon  permitted  himself  to 
smile.  Yet  his  answer  was  as  cautious  as  ever. 

"Well,  Mr.  Carrington?"  said  he. 

"Well,"  said  Carrington,  "if  you  actually  are 
my  employer  and  we  both  lay  our  cards  on  the 
table,  there's  much  to  be  gained,  and — if  I  may 
say  so — really  nothing  to  be  lost.  I  won't  give 
you  away  if  you  won't  give  me." 

The  lawyer's  nod  seemed  to  imply  emphatic 
assent,  and  the  other  went  on: 

"I'll  keep  you  informed  of  everything  I'm  do- 
ing and  anything  I  may  happen  to  discover,  and 
you  can  give  me  very  valuable  information  as  to 
what  precisely  is  known  already.  Otherwise,  of 
course,  one  could  hardly  exchange  confidences  so 
freely.  Frankly  then,  you  engaged  me  to  come 
down  here?" 

Even  then  Simon's  caution  seemed  to  linger 
for  an  instant.  The  next  he  answered  briefly  but 
decidedly : 

"Yes." 

"Very  well,  now  to  business.  I  got  a  certain 
amount  of  literature  on  the  case  before  I  left 
town,  and  Miss  Peterkin  gave  me  some  very  val- 
uable additions  in  the  shape  of  the  accounts  in 
the  local  papers.  Are  there  any  facts  known  to 
you  or  the  police  beyond  those  I  have  read?" 

Simon  considered  the  question  and  then  shook 
his  head. 


174  SIMON 

"None  that  I  can  think  of,  and  I  fear  the  local 
police  will  be  able  to  add  no  information  that  can 
assist  you." 

"They  are  the  usual  not  too  intelligent  country 
bobbies,  I  suppose?" 

"Quite  so,"  said  Simon. 

"In  that  case,"  asked  Mr.  Carrington,  still  in 
his  easy  voice,  but  with  a  quick  turn  of  his  eye- 
glass towards  the  lawyer,  "why  was  no  outside 
assistance  called  in  at  once?" 

For  a  moment  Simon  Rattar's  satisfaction  with 
his  visitor  seemed  to  be  diminished.  He  seemed, 
in  fact,  a  little  disconcerted,  and  his  reply  again 
became  little  more  than  a  grunt. 

"Quite  satisfied  with  them,"  seemed  to  be  the 
reading  of  his  answer. 

"Well,"  said  Carrington,  "no  doubt  you  knew 
best,  Mr.  Rattar." 

His  eyes  thoughtfully  followed  the  smoke  of 
his  cigarette  upwards  for  a  moment,  and  then  he 
said: 

"That  being  so,  my  first  step  had  better  be  to 
visit  Keldale  House  and  see  whether  it  is  still 
possible  to  find  any  small  point  the  local  profes- 
sionals have  overlooked." 

Mr.  Rattar  seemed  to  disapprove  of  this. 

"Nothing  to  discover,"  said  he.  "And  they  will 
know  what  you  have  come  about." 

Mr.  Carrington  smiled. 

"I  think,  Mr.  Rattar,  that,  on  the  whole,  my 
appearance  provokes  no  great  amount  of  sus- 
picion." 


MR.  CARRINGTON  AND  THE  FISCAL     175 

"Your  appearance,  no,"  admitted  Simon, 
"but—" 

"Well,  if  I  go  to  Keldale  armed  with  a  card  of 
introduction  from  you,  to  make  enquiry  about  the 
shootings,  I  think  I  can  undertake  to  turn  the 
conversation  on  to  other  matters  without  excit- 
ing suspicion." 

"Conversation  with  whom?"  enquired  the  law- 
yer sceptically. 

"I  had  thought  of  Mr.  Bisset,  the  butler." 

"Oh — "  began  Mr.  Rattar  with  a  note  of  sur- 
prise, and  then  pulled  himself  up. 

"Yes,"  smiled  Mr.  Carrington,  "I  have  picked 
up  a  little  about  the  household.  My  friends  of 
last  night  were  exceedingly  communicative — very 
gossipy  indeed.  I  rather  gather  that  omniscience 
is  Mr.  Bisset 's  foible,  and  that  he  is  not  averse 
from  conversation." 

The  look  in  Simon's  eye  seemed  to  indicate  that 
his  respect  for  this  easy  going  young  man  was  in- 
creasing; though  whether  his  liking  for  him  was 
also  increased  thereby  was  not  so  manifest.  His 
reply  was  again  a  mere  grunt. 

"Well,  that  can  easily  be  arranged,"  said  Car- 
rington, "and  it  is  obviously  the  first  thing  to  do." 

He  blew  a  ring  of  smoke  from  his  lips,  skil- 
fully sent  a  second  ring  in  chase  of  it,  and  then 
turning  his  monocle  again  on  the  lawyer,  en- 
quired ( though  not  in  a  tone  that  seemed  to  indi- 
cate and  very  acute  interest  in  the  question) : 

"Who  do  you  think  yourself  murdered  Sir 
Reginald  Cromarty?" 


XXIII 

SIMON'S  VIEWS 

"WELL/*  said  Mr.  Rattar  deliberately,  "I 
think  myself  that  the  actual  evidence  is  very 
slight  and  extremely  inclusive." 

"You  mean  the  direct  evidence  afforded  by  the 
unfastened  window,  position  of  the  body,  table 
said  to  have  been  overturned,  and  so  forth?" 

"Exactly.  That  evidence  is  slight,  but  so  far 
as  it  goes  it  seems  to  me  to  point  to  entry  by  the 
door  and  to  the  man  having  been  in  the  house  for 
some  little  time  previously." 

"Well?"  said  Carrington  in  an  encouraging 
voice. 

"So  much  for  the  direct  evidence.  I  may  be 
wrong,  but  that  is  my  decided  opinion.  No  bad 
characters  are  known  to  the  police  to  have  been 
in  the  county  at  that  time,  and  there  was  no  rob- 
bery." 

"Apparently  confirming  the  direct  evidence?" 

"Decidedly  confirming  it — or  so  it  seems  to 
me." 

"Then  you  think  there  is  something  in  the  pop- 
ular theory  that  the  present  baronet  and  Miss 
Farmond  were  the  guilty  parties?" 

Simon  was  silent  for  a  moment,  but  his  face 
was  unusually  expressive. 

176 


SIMON'S  VIEWS  177 

"I  fear  it  looks  like  it." 

"An  unpleasant  conclusion  for  you  to  come 
to,"  observed  Mr.  Carrington.  "You  are  the 
family  lawyer,  I  understand." 

"Very  unpleasant,"  Mr.  Rattar  agreed.  "But, 
of  course,  there  is  no  absolute  proof." 

"Naturally;  or  they'd  have  been  arrested  by 
now.  What  sort  of  a  fellow  is  Sir  Malcolm?" 

"My  own  experience  of  him,"  said  the  lawyer 
drily,  "is  chiefly  confined  to  his  visits  to  my  office 
to  borrow  money  of  me." 

"Indeed?"  said  Carrington  with  interest. 
"That  sort  of  fellow,  is  he?  He  writes,  I  under- 
stand." 

Simon  nodded. 

"Any  other  known  vices?" 

"I  know  little  about  his  vices  except  that  they 
cost  him  considerably  more  than  he  could  possibly 
have  paid,  had  it  not  been  for  Sir  Reginald's 
death." 

"So  the  motive  is  plain  enough.  Any  evi- 
dence against  him?" 

Simon  pursed  his  lips  and  became  exceedingly 
grave. 

"When  questioned  next  morning  by  the  super- 
intendent of  police  and  myself,  he  led  us  to  un- 
derstand that  he  had  retired  to  bed  early  and  was 
in  no  position  to  hear  or  notice  anything.  I  have 
since  found  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  sitting  up 
late." 

"  'In  the  habit,'  "  repeated  Carrington  quickly. 


178  SIMON 

"But  you  don't  suggest  he  sat  up  that  night  in 
particular?" 

"Undoubtedly  he  sat  up  that  night." 

"But  merely  as  he  always  did?" 

"He  might  have  been  waiting  for  his  chance 
on  the  previous  nights." 

Carrington  smoked  thoughtfully  for  a  moment 
and  then  asked: 

"But  there  is  no  evidence  that  he  left  his  room 
or  was  heard  moving  about  that  night,  is  there?" 

"There  is  not  yet  any  positive  evidence.  But 
he  was  obviously  in  a  position  to  do  so." 

"Was  his  room  near  or  over  the  library?" 

"N — no,"  said  the  fiscal,  and  there  seemed  to 
be  a  hint  of  reluctance  in  his  voice. 

Carrington  glanced  at  him  quickly  and  then 
gazed  up  at  the  ceiling. 

"What  sort  of  a  girl  is  Miss  Farmond?"  he 
enquired  next. 

"She  is  the  illegitimate  daughter  of  a  brother 
of  the  late  Sir  Reginald's." 

Carrington  nodded. 

"So  I  gathered  from  the  local  gossips.  But 
that  fact  is  hardly  against  her,  is  it?" 

"Why  not?" 

Carrington  looked  a  little  surprised. 

"Girls  don't  generally  murder  their  uncles  for 
choice,  in  my  own  experience;  especially  if  they 
are  also  their  benefactors." 

"This  was  hardly  the  usual  relationship,"  said 
the  lawyer  with  a  touch  of  significance. 


SIMON'S  VIEWS  179 

"Do  you  suggest  that  the  irregularity  is  apt 
to  breed  crime?" 

Simon's  grunt  seemed  to  signify  considerable 
doubt  as  to  the  morals  of  the  type  of  relative. 

"But  what  sort  of  girl  is  she  otherwise?" 

"I  should  call  Miss  Farmond  the  insinuating 
type.  A  young  man  like  yourself  would  probably 
find  her  very  attractive — at  first  anyhow." 

Mr.  Carrington  seemed  to  ponder  for  a  mo- 
ment on  this  suggestive  description  of  Miss  Far- 
mond's  allurements.  And  then  he  asked: 

"Is  it  the  case  that  she  is  engaged  to  Sir 
Malcolm?" 

"Certainly." 

"You  are  sure?" 

Something  in  his  voice  seemed  to  make  the 
lawyer  reflect. 

"Is  it  called  in  question?"  he  asked. 

Carrington  shook  his  head. 

"By  nobody  who  has  spoken  to  me  on  the 
subject.  But  I  understand  that  it  has  not  yet 
been  announced." 

"No,"  said  Simon.  "It  was  a  secret  engage- 
ment; and  marriage  would  have  been  impossible 
while  Sir  Reginald  lived." 

"So  there  we  get  the  motive  on  her  part.  And 
you  yourself,  Mr.  Rattar,  know  both  these  young 
people,  and  you  believe  that  this  accusation 
against  them  is  probably  well  founded?" 

"I  believe,  Mr.  Carrington,  that  there  is  no 
proof  and  probably  never  will  be  any;  but  all 
the  evidence,  positive  and  negative,  together  with 


180  SIMON 

the  question  of  motive,  points  to  nobody  else. 
What  alternative  is  possible?" 

"That  is  the  difficulty,  so  far,"  agreed  Car- 
rington,  but  his  thoughts  at  the  moment  seemed 
to  be  following  his  smoke  rings  up  towards  the 
ceiling.  For  a  few  moments  he  was  silent,  and 
then  he  asked: 

"What  other  people  benefited  by  the  will  and 
to  what  extent?" 

The  lawyer  went  to  his  safe,  brought  out  the 
will,  and  read  through  the  legacies  to  the  ser- 
vants, mentioning  that  the  chauffeur  and  gar- 
dener were  excluded  by  circumstances  from 
suspicion. 

"That  leaves  Mr.  Bisset,"  observed  Carring- 
ton.  "Well,  I  shall  be  seeing  him  to-morrow. 
Any  other  legatees  who  might  conceivably  have 
committed  the  crime?" 

Simon  looked  serious  and  spoke  with  a  little 
reluctance  that  he  seemed  to  make  no  effort  to 
conceal. 

"There  is  a  relative  of  the  family,  a  Mr. 
Cromarty  of  Stanesland,  who  certainly  benefited 
considerably  by  the  will  and  who  certainly  lives 
in  the  neighbourhood — if  one  once  admitted  the 
possibility  of  the  crime  being  committed  by  some 
one  outside  the  house.  And  I  admit  that  it  is  a 
possibility." 

"Ah!"  said  Carrington.  "I  heard  about  him 
last  night,  but  so  far  suspicion  certainly  hasn't 
fastened  on  him.  What  sort  of  a  fellow  is  he?" 

"He  has  lived  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in 


SIMON'S  VIEWS  181 

the  wilder  parts  of  America — rather  what  one 
might  call  a  rough  and  ready  customer." 

It  was  apparent  that  Mr.  Carrington,  for  all 
his  easy  going  air,  was  extremely  interested. 

"This  is  quite  interesting!"  he  murmured.  "To 
what  extent  did  he  benefit  by  the  will?" 

"£l,200." 

"<£l,200!"  Carrington  repeated  the  words 
with  an  odd  intonation  and  stared  very  hard  at 
the  lawyer.  There  was  no  doubt  that  his  interest 
was  highly  excited  now,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  be 
rather  a  different  quality  of  interest  this  time. 

"A  considerable  sum,"  said  Simon. 

"That  is  the  only  point  about  it  which  strikes 
you?" 

Simon  was  manifestly  puzzled. 

"What  else?"  he  enquired. 

"No  coincidence  occurs  to  you?" 

The  lawyer's  puzzled  look  remained,  and  the 
next  instant  Carrington  broke  into  a  hearty 
laugh. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Rattar,"  he  cried. 
"What  an  owl  I  am!  I  have  just  been  dealing 
lately  with  a  case  where  that  sum  of  money  was 
involved,  and  for  the  moment  I  mixed  the  two 
up  together!"  He  laughed  again,  and  then  re- 
suming his  businesslike  air,  asked:  "Now,  what 
else  about  this  Mr.  Cromarty?  You  say  he  is 
a  relation.  Near  or  distant?" 

"Oh,  quite  distant.  Another  branch  alto- 
gether." 

"Younger  branch,  I  presume." 


182  SIMON 

"Poorer  but  not  younger.  He  is  said  to  be 
the  head  of  the  family." 

"Really!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Carrington,  and  this 
information  seemed  to  have  set  him  thinking 
again.  "He  is  the  head  of  the  family,  and  I 
hear  he  took  up  the  case  with  some  energy." 

Simon's  grunt  seemed  to  be  critical. 

"He  got  in  our  way/'  he  said. 

"Got  in  your  way,  did  he?" 

Carrington  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  said: 

"Well  I  am  afraid  I  have  taken  up  a  great 
deal  of  your  time.  May  I  have  a  line  of  intro- 
duction to  Mr.  Bisset  before  I  go?" 

While  the  line  was  being  written  he  walked 
over  to  the  fire  and  cleared  the  stump  of  his  last 
cigarette  out  of  the  holder.  This  operation  was 
very  deliberately  performed,  and  through  it  his 
eyes  seemed  scarcely  to  note  what  his  hands  were 
doing. 

He  put  the  note  in  his  pocket,  shook  hands, 
and  then,  just  as  he  was  going,  he  said: 

"I  want  to  understand  the  lie  of  the  land  as 
exactly  as  possible.  Your  own  attitude,  so  far 
has  been,  I  take  it — no  proof,  therefore  no  arrest ; 
but  a  nasty  family  scandal  left  festering,  so  you 
decided  to  call  me  in.  Now,  I  want  to  know 
this — is  there  anybody  else  in  the  neighbourhood 
who  knows  that  I  have  been  sent  for?" 

Mr.  Rattar  replied  with  even  more  than  his 
usual  deliberation,  and  after  what  is  said  by 


SIMON'S  VIEWS  183 

foreigners  to  be  the  national  habit,  his  reply 
consisted  of  another  question. 

"You  say  that  your  employer  made  a  par- 
ticular point  of  having  his  identity  concealed?" 

"Yes,  a  particular  point." 

"Doesn't  that  answer  your  question,  Mr.  Car- 
rington?" 

"No,"  said  Carrington,  "not  in  the  least.  I 
am  asking  now  whether  there  is  any  other  em- 
ployer in  this  neighbourhood  besides  yourself. 
And  I  may  say  that  I  ask  for  the  very  good 
reason  that  it  might  be  awkward  for  me  if  there 
were  and  I  didn't  know  him,  while  if  I  did  know 
him,  I  could  consult  with  him  if  it  happened  to 
be  advisable.  Is  there  any  one?" 

He  seemed  to  hang  on  the  lawyer's  answer, 
and  Simon  to  dislike  making  the  answer. 

Yet  when  he  did  make  it,  it  was  quite  emphatic. 

"No,"  he  replied. 

"That's  all  right  then,"  said  Mr.  Carrington 
with  his  brightest  smile.  "Good  afternoon,  Mr. 
Rattar." 

The  smile  faded  from  his  ingenuous  face  the 
moment  the  door  had  closed  behind  him,  and 
it  was  a  very  thoughtful  Mr.  Carrington  who 
slowly  went  downstairs  and  strolled  along  the 
pavement.  If  his  morning's  interview  had 
puzzled  him,  his  afternoon's  interview  seemed  to 
have  baffled  him  completely.  He  even  forgot  to 
relapse  into  the  thoughtless  young  sportsman 
when  he  entered  the  hotel,  and  his  friend  the 


184  SIMON 

manageress,  after  eyeing  him  with  great  surprise, 
cried  archly: 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Mr.  Carrington! 
About  shooting  or  fishing,  I'm  sure!" 

Mr.  Carrington  recovered  his  pleasant  spirits 
instantly. 

"Quite  right,"  said  he.  "I  was  thinking  about 
fishing — in  very  deep  waters." 


XXIV 

MR.  BISSET'S  ASSISTANT 

AT  eleven  o'clock  next  morning  a  motor  car 
drove  up  to  Keldale  House  and  an  exceedingly 
affable  and  pleasing  stranger  delivered  a  note 
from  Mr.  Simon  Rattar  to  Mr.  James  Bisset. 
Even  without  an  introduction,  Mr.  Carrington 
would  have  been  welcome,  for  though  Mr. 
Bisset's  sway  over  Keldale  House  was  by  this 
time  almost  despotic,  he  had  begun  to  find  that 
despotism  has  its  lonely  side,  and  to  miss  "the 
gentry."  With  an  introduction,  Mr.  Carrington 
quickly  discovered  that  Mr.  Bisset  and  the  man- 
sion he  supervised  were  alike  entirely  at  his 
disposal. 

The  preliminary  discussion  on  the  sporting 
possibilities  of  the  estate  and  the  probability  of 
its  being  let  next  season  impressed  Mr.  Bisset 
very  favourably  indeed  with  his  visitor;  and  then 
when  the  conversation  had  passed  very  naturally 
to  the  late  tragedy  in  the  house,  he  was  still 
further  delighted  to  find  that  Mr.  Carrington 
not  only  shared  his  own  detective  enthusiasm, 
but  was  vastly  interested  in  his  views  on  this 
particular  mystery. 

"Come  along  here,  sir,"  said  he,  "we  can  just 

185 


186  SIMON 

have  a  look  at  the  library  and  I'll  explain  to 
you  the  principles  of  the  thing." 

"I'd  like  to  see  the  actual  scene  of  the  crime 
immensely!"  cried  Mr.  Carrington  eagerly. 
"You  are  sure  that  Lady  Cromarty  won't 
object?" 

"Not  her,"  said  Bisset.  "She's  never  in  this 
part  of  the  house  now.  She'll  be  none  the  wiser 
anyhow." 

This  argument  seemed  to  assure  Mr.  Carring- 
ton completely,  and  they  went  along  to  the 
library. 

"Now,"  began  Bisset,  "I'll  just  explain  to  you 
the  haill  situation.  Here  where  I'm  laying  this 
sofie  cushion  was  the  corp.  Here  where  I'm 
standing  the  now  was  the  wee  table,  and  yon's 
the  table  itself." 

To  the  disquisition  that  followed,  Mr.  Carring- 
ton listened  with  the  most  intelligent  air.  Bisset 
had  by  this  time  evolved  quite  a  number  of  new 
theories,  but  the  one  feature  common  to  them 
all  was  the  hypothesis  that  the  murderer  must 
have  come  in  by  the  window  and  was  certainly 
not  an  inmate  of  the  household.  His  visitor  said 
little  till  he  had  finished,  and  then  he  remarked : 

"Well,  Bisset,  you  don't  seem  to  put  much 
faith  in  the  current  theory,  I  see." 

"Meaning  that  Sir  Malcolm  and  Miss  Far- 
mond  were  concerned?"  said  Bisset  indignantly. 
"That's  just  the  ignorance  of  the  uneducated 
masses,  sir!  The  thing's  physically  impossible, 
as  I've  just  been  demonstrating  1" 


MR.  BISSET'S  ASSISTANT  187 

Carrington  smiled  and  gently  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  know  much  about  these  things,"  said 
he,  "but  I'm  afraid  I  can't  see  the  physical  im- 
possibility. It  was  very  easy  for  any  one  in  the 
house  to  come  downstairs  and  open  that  door,  and 
if  Sir  Reginald  knew  him,  it  would  account  for 
his  silence  and  the  absence  of  any  kind  of  a 
struggle." 

"But  yon  table  and  the  windie  being  unfast- 
ened! And  the  mud  I  picked  up  myself — and 
the  hearth  brush!" 

"They  scarcely  make  it  impossible,"  said  Car- 
rington. 

"Well,  sir,"  demanded  the  butler,  "what's  your 
own  theory?" 

fl 

Carrington  said  nothing  for  several  minutes. 
He  strolled  up  and  down  the  room,  looked  at  the 
table  and  the  window,  and  at  last  asked: 

"Do  you  remember  quite  distinctly  what  Sir 
Reginald  looked  like  when  you  found  him — the 
position  of  the  body — condition  of  the  clothes — 
and  everything  else?" 

"I  see  him  lying  there  every  night  o'  my  life, 
just  as  plain  as  I  see  you  now!" 

"The  feet  were  towards  the  door,  just  as 
though  he  had  been  facing  the  door  when  he  was 
struck  down?" 

"Aye,  but  then  my  view  is  the  body  was 
moved " 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  curious  performance 
on  Mr.  Carrington's  part.  His  visitor  was  in 


188  SIMON 

fact  stretching  himself  out  on  the  floor  on  the 
spot  where  Sir  Reginald  was  found. 

"He  lay  like  this?"  he  asked. 

"Aye,  practically  just  like  that,  sir." 

"Now,  Bisset,"  said  the  recumbent  visitor, 
"just  have  a  very  good  look  at  me  and  tell  me 
if  you  notice  any  difference  between  me  and  the 
body  of  Sir  Reginald." 

Bisset  looked  for  a  few  seconds  and  then 
exclaimed : 

"Your  clothes  are  no  alike!  The  master's  coat 
was  kind  of  pulled  up  like  about  his  shoulders 
and  neck.  Oh,  and  I  mind  now  the  tag  at  the 
back  for  hanging  it  up  was  broken  and  sticking 
out." 

Carrington  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  gleam  in 
his  eye. 

"The  tag  was  not  broken  before  he  put  on  the 
coat?" 

"It  certainly  was  not  that!  But  what's  your 
deduction,  sir?" 

Carrington  smiled  at  him. 

"What  do  you  think  yourself,  Bisset?  You 
saw  how  I  threw  myself  down  quite  carelessly 
and  yet  my  coat  wasn't  pulled  up  like  that." 

"God,  sir!"  cried  the  butler.  "You  mean  the 
corp  had  been  pulled  along  the  floor  by  the 
shoulders !" 

Carrington  nodded. 

"Then  he  had  been  killed  near  the  windie!" 

"Not  too  fast,  not  too  fast!"  smiled  Carring- 
ton. "Your  own  first  statement  which  I  hap- 


MR.  BISSET'S  ASSISTANT  189 

pened  to  read  in  a  back  number  of  the  newspaper 
the  other  day  said  that  the  windows  were  all 
fastened  when  Sir  Reginald  came  into  the  room." 

"Ah,  but  I've  been  altering  my  opinion  on  that 
point,  sir." 

Carrington  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  afraid  because  a  fastened  window  doesn't 
suit  your  theory." 

"But  the  master  might  have  opened  it  to  him, 
thinking  it  was  some  one  he  knew." 

"Sounds  improbable,"  said  Carrington  thought- 
fully. 

"But  not  just  absolutely  impossible." 

"No,"  said  Carrington,  still  very  thoughtfully, 
"not  impossible." 

"Sir  Reginald  might  never  have  seen  it  was 
a  stranger  till  the  man  was  fairly  inside." 

Carrington  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"Thin,  Bisset;  very  thin.  Why  need  the  man 
have  been  a  stranger  at  all?" 

Bisset's  face  fell. 

"But  surely  you're  not  believing  yon  story  that 
it  was  Sir  Malcolm  and  Miss  Farmond  after  a'?" 

His  visitor  stood  absolutely  silent  for  a  full 
minute.  Then  he  seemed  suddenly  to  banish  the 
line  of  thought  he  was  following. 

"Is  it  quite  certain  that  those  two  are  en- 
gaged?" he  asked. 

Bisset's  face  showed  his  surprise  at  the  ques- 
tion. 

"They  all  say  so,"  said  he. 

"Have  either  of  them  admitted  it?" 


190  SIMON 

"No,  sir." 

"Why  don't  they  acknowledge  it  now  and  get 
married?" 

"They  say  it's  because  they  daurna  for  fear  of 
the  scandal." 

'They'  say  again!"  commented  Carrington. 
"But,  look  here,  Bisset,  you  have  been  in  the 
house  all  the  time.  Did  you  think  they  were 
engaged?" 

"Honestly,  sir,  I  did  not.  There's  nae  doubt 
Sir  Malcolm  was  sweet  on  the  young  lady,  but 
deil  a  sign  of  sweetness  on  him  did  I  ever  see  in 
her!" 

"Do  they  correspond  now?" 

Bisset  shook  his  head. 

"Hardly  at  a'.  But  of  course  folks  just  say 
they  are  feared  to  now." 

"Has  anybody  asked  either  of  them  if  they 
are — or  ever  were — engaged?" 

"No,  sir.  But  if  they  denied  it  now,  folks 
would  just  say  the  same  thing." 

"Yes.  I  see — naturally.  Lady  Cromarty  be- 
lieves it  and  is  keeping  Miss  Farmond  under  her 
eye,  the  gossips  tell  me.  Is  that  so?" 

"Oh,  that's  true  right  enough,  sir." 

"Who  told  Lady  Cromarty?" 

"That  I  do  not  know,  sir." 

Again  the  visitor  seemed  to  be  thinking,  and 
again  to  cast  his  thoughts  aside  and  take  up  a 
new  aspect  of  the  case. 

"Supposing,"  he  suggested,  "we  were  to  draw 
the  curtains  and  light  these  candles  for  a  few 


MR.  BISSET'S  ASSISTANT  191 

minutes?  It  might  help  us  to  realise  the  whole 
thing." 

This  suggestion  pleased  Mr.  Bisset  greatly  and 
in  a  minute  or  two  the  candles  were  lit  and  the 
curtains  drawn. 

"Put  the  table  where  it  stood,"  said  Carring- 
ton.  "Now  which  was  Sir  Reginald's  chair? 
This?" 

He  sat  in  it  and  looked  slowly  round  the  dark- 
ened, candle-lit  library. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "suppose  I  was  Sir  Reginald, 
and  there  came  a  tap  at  that  window,  what  would 
I  do?" 

"If  you  were  the  master,  sir,  you'd  go  straight 
to  the  windie  to  see  who  it  was." 

"I  wouldn't  get  in  a  funk  and  ring  the  bell?" 

"No  fears!"  said  Bisset  confidently. 

"And  any  one  who  knew  Sir  Reginald  at  all 
well  could  count  on  his  not  giving  the  alarm  then 
if  they  tapped  at  the  window?" 

"They  could  that." 

Carrington  looked  attentively  towards  the 
window. 

"Those  curtains  hang  close  against  the  win- 
dow, I  see,"  he  observed.  "A  very  slight  gap  in 
them  would  enable  any  one  to  get  a  good  view 
of  the  room,  if  the  blinds  were  not  down.  Were 
the  blinds  down  that  night?" 

Bisset  slapped  his  knee. 

"The  middle  blind  wasn't  working  I"  he  cried. 
"What  a  fool  I've  been  not  to  think  on  the  extra- 
ordinar'  significance  of  that  f ac' !  My,  the  deduc- 


192  SIMON 

tions  to  be  drawn!  You've  made  it  quite  clear 
now,  sir.  The  man  tappit  at  that  windie— 

"Steady,  steady!"  said  Carrington,  smiling  and 
yet  seriously.  "Don't  you  go  announcing  that 
theory!  If  there's  anything  in  it — mum's  the 
word!  But  mind  you,  Bisset,  it's  only  a  bare 
possibility.  There's  no  good  evidence  against  the 
door  theory  yet." 

"Not  the  table  being  cowpit  and  the  body 
moved  ?" 

"They  might  be  explained." 

He  was  thoughtful  for  a  moment  and  then 
said  deliberately: 

"I  want — I  mean  you  want  certain  evidence 
to  exclude  the  door  theory.  Without  that,  the 
window  theory  remains  a  guess.  Sir  Malcolm  is 
in  London,  I  understand?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Likely  to  be  coming  north  soon?" 

"No  word  of  it,  sir." 

Mr.  Carrington  reflected  for  a  moment  and 
then  rose  and  went  towards  the  window. 

"We  can  draw  back  the  curtains  now,"  said  he. 

He  drew  them  as  he  spoke  and  on  the  instant 
stepped  involuntarily  back  and  down  went  the 
small  table.  Miss  Cicely  Farmond  was  standing 
just  outside,  evidently  arrested  by  the  drawn 
curtains.  Her  eyes  opened  very  wide  indeed  at 
the  sight  of  Mr.  Carrington  suddenly  revealed. 
Her  lips  parted  for  an  instant  as  though  she 
would  cry  out,  and  then  she  hurried  away. 

Mr.   Carrington  seemed  more  upset  by  this 


MR.  BISSET'S  ASSISTANT  193 

incident  than  one  would  expect  from  such  a  com- 
posed, easy  going  young  man. 

"What  will  they  think  of  me!"  he  exclaimed. 
"You  must  be  sure  to  tell  Miss  Farmond — and 
Lady  Cromarty  too  if  she  hears  of  this — that  I 
came  solely  to  enquire  about  the  shootings  and 
not  to  poke  my  nose  into  their  library !  Make  that 
very  explicit,  Bisset." 

Even  though  assured  by  Bisset  that  the  young 
lady  was  the  most  amiable  person  imaginable,  he 
was  continuing  to  lay  stress  on  the  point  when 
his  attention  was  abruptly  diverted  by  the  sight 
of  another  lady  in  deep  black  walking  slowly 
away  from  the  house. 

"Is  that  Lady  Cromarty?"  he  asked,  and  no 
sooner  had  Bisset  said  "yes"  than  the  window  was 
up  and  Mr.  Carrington  stepping  out  of  it. 

"I  really  must  explain  and  apologise  to  her 
ladyship,"  said  he. 

"Her  ladyship  will  never  know !"  began 

Bisset,  but  the  surprising  visitor  was  already 
hastening  after  the  mourning  figure.  Had  the 
worthy  man  been  able  to  hear  the  conversation 
which  ensued  he  would  have  been  more  surprised 
still. 

"Lady  Cromarty,  I  believe?"  said  the  stranger 
in  a  deferential  voice. 

She  turned  quickly,  and  her  eyes  searched  him 
with  that  hard  glance  they  wore  always  nowa- 
days. 

"Yes,  I  am  Lady  Cromarty,"  she  said. 

"Pardon  me  for  disturbing  you,"  said  he.    "It 


194  SIMON 

is  a  mere  brief  matter  of  business.  I  represent 
an  insurance  company  to  which  Sir  Malcolm 
Cromarty  has  made  certain  proposals.  We  are 
not  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  statements,  and 
from  other  sources  learn  that  he  is  engaged  to  be 
married.  I  have  come  simply  to  ascertain 
whether  that  is  the  case." 

Lady  Cromarty  was  (as  Mr.  Carrington  had 
shrewdly  divined )  no  better  versed  in  the  intricate 
matter  of  insurance  than  the  majority  of  her  sex, 
and  evidently  perceived  nothing  very  unusual  in 
this  enquiry.  It  may  be  added  in  her  excuse 
that  the  manner  in  which  it  was  put  by  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  company  was  a  perfect  example 
of  how  a  business  man  should  address  a  lady. 

"It  is  the  case,"  said  she. 

"May  I  ask  your  ladyship's  authority — in 
strict  confidence  of  course?"  enquired  the  repre- 
sentative firmly,  but  very  courteously. 

"I  learned  it  from  my  own  man  of  business," 
said  she. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  insurance  representa- 
tive. "I  beg  that  your  ladyship  will  say  nothing 
of  my  call,  and  I  shall  undertake  not  to  mention 
the  source  of  my  information,"  and  with  an  ade- 
quate bow  he  returned  to  the  house. 

Before  disappearing  through  her  library  win- 
dow, Mr.  Carrington  saw  that  her  ladyship's 
back  was  turned,  and  he  then  gave  this  candid, 
if  somewhat  sketchy,  account  of  his  interview 
to  her  butler. 

"It  suddenly  struck  me,"  said  he,  "that  Lady 


MR.  BISSET'S  ASSISTANT  195 

Cromarty  might  think  it  somewhat  unseemly  of 
me  to  come  enquiring  about  shooting  so  soon 
after  her  bereavement;  so  I  gave  her  a  somewhat 
different  explanation.  She  is  not  likely  to  make 
any  further  enquiries  about  me  and  so  you  need 
say  nothing  about  my  visit." 

He  was  careful  however  to  impress  on  his 
friend  Mr.  Bisset  that  he  actually  had  come  from 
purely  sporting  motives.  In  fact  he  professed 
some  anxiety  to  get  in  touch  with  Sir  Malcolm 
on  the  subject,  even  though  assured  that  the 
young  baronet  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  shoot- 
ings. 

"Ah,  but  it  will  gratify  him,  Bisset,"  said  he, 
<fand  I  think  it  is  the  nice  thing  to  do.  Could 
you  give  me  his  London  address?" 

He  jotted  this  down  in  his  pocket  book,  and 
then  as  he  was  leaving  he  said  confidentially: 

"You  tell  me  that  you  think  Sir  Malcolm  is 
interested  in  Miss  Farmond,  though  she  seemed 
not  so  keen  on  him?" 

"That  was  the  way  of  it  to  my  thinking,"  said 
Bisset.  "And  what  deduction  would  you  draw 
from  that,  sir?" 

"I  should  deduce,"  said  this  sympathetic  and 
intelligent  visitor,  "the  probable  appearance  of 
certain  evidence  bearing  on  our  theories,  Bisset." 

Mr.  Bisset  thought  he  had  seldom  met  a  pleas- 
anter  gentleman  or  a  more  helpful  assistant. 


XXV 

A  TELEGRAM 

THE  car  took  Mr.  Carrington  straight  back  to 
the  town  and  dropped  him  at  the  door  of  Mr. 
Rattar's  office. 

"I  shall  want  you  again  at  two  o'clock  sharp," 
he  said  to  the  chauffeur,  and  turned  in  to  the 
office. 

He  caught  the  lawyer  just  before  he  went  out 
to  lunch  and  said  at  once : 

"I  want  to  see  Sir  Malcolm  Cromarty.  Can 
you  arrange  for  him  to  run  up  here  for  a  day?" 

Simon  stared  at  him  hard,  and  there  seemed  to 
be  even  more  caution  than  usual  in  his  eye;  al- 
most, indeed,  a  touch  of  suspicion.  The  lawyer 
was  not  looking  quite  as  well  as  usual ;  there  was 
a  drawn  look  about  the  upper  part  of  the  face 
and  a  hint  of  strain  both  in  eyes  and  mouth. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  see  Sir  Malcolm?"  he 
enquired. 

"Well,"  said  Carrington,  "the  fact  of  the  mat- 
ter is,  Mr.  Rattar,  that,  as  you  yourself  said,  the 
direct  evidence  is  practically  nil,  and  one  is  forced 
to  go  a  good  deal  by  one's  judgment  of  the  people 
suspected  or  concerned." 

Simon  grunted  sceptically. 

"Very  misleading,"  he  said. 

196 


A  TELEGRAM  197 

"That  depends  entirely  on  one's  judgment,  or 
rather  on  one's  instinct  for  distinguishing  bad 
eggs  from  good.  As  a  matter  of  observation  I 
don't  find  that  certain  types  of  men  and  women 
commit  certain  actions,  and  I  do  find  that  they 
are  apt  to  commit  others.  And  contrariwise  with 
other  types." 

"Very  unsafe  doctrine,"  said  Simon  emphat- 
ically. 

"Extremely — in  the  hands  of  any  one  who 
doesn't  know  how  to  apply  it.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  can  be  made  a  short  and  commonsense 
cut  to  the  truth  in  many  cases.  For  instance,  the 
man  who  suspected  Mr.  Bisset  of  committing  the 
crime  would  simply  be  wasting  his  time  and  en- 
ergy, even  if  there  seemed  to  be  some  evidence 
against  him." 

"Any  man  can  commit  any  crime,"  said  Simon 
dogmatically. 

Carrington  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"Personally,"  said  he,  "if  you  had  a  young  and 
pretty  wife,  I  am  capable  of  running  away  with 
her,  and  possibly  even  of  letting  her  persuade  me 
to  abscond  with  some  of  your  property,  but  I  am 
not  capable  of  laying  you  out  in  cold  blood  and 
rifling  that  safe.  And  a  good  judge  of  men 
ought  to  be  able  to  perceive  this  and  not  waste 
his  time  in  trying  to  convict  me  of  an  offence  I 
couldn't  commit.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  crime 
was  one  that  my  type  is  apt  to  commit  he  would 
be  a  fool  to  acquit  me  off-hand,  even  if  there  was 
next  to  no  evidence  against  me." 


198  SIMON 

"Then  you  simply  go  by  your  impressions  of 
people?" 

"Far  from  it.  A  complete  absence  of  motive 
would  force  me  to  acquit  even  the  most  prom- 
ising looking  blackguard,  unless  of  course  there 
were  some  form  of  lunacy  in  his  case.  One  must 
have  motive  and  one  must  have  evidence  as  well, 
but  character  is  the  short  cut — if  the  circum- 
stances permit  you  to  use  it.  Sometimes  of 
course  they  don't,  but  in  this  case  they  force  me 
to  depend  on  it  very  largely.  Therefore  I  want 
to  see  Sir  Malcolm  Cromarty." 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head. 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Carrington,"  he  said,  "I  can't 
bring  him  down  here  on  such  trivial  grounds." 

"But  you  yourself  suspect  him!" 

For  a  moment  the  lawyer  was  silent. 

"I  think  suspicion  points  to  him;  but  what  is 
wanted  is  evidence.  You  can't  get  evidence  mere- 
ly by  bringing  him  here.  You  don't  suppose  he 
will  confess,  do  you?" 

"Have  you  ever  studied  the  French  methods 
of  getting  at  the  truth?"  enquired  Carrington, 
and  when  Simon  shook  his  head  contemptuously, 
he  added  with  some  significance:  "We  can  learn 
a  good  deal  from  our  neighbours." 

"Trivial  grounds!"  muttered  Simon.  "No, 
no!" 

Carrington  became  unusually  serious  and  im- 
pressive. 

"I  am  investigating  this  case,  Mr.  Rattar,  and 


A  TELEGRAM  199 

I  want  to  see  Sir  Malcolm.  Will  you  send  for 
him  or  not?" 

"He  wouldn't  come." 

"It  depends  on  the  urgency  of  the  message." 

"I  can't  invent  bogus  urgent  messages  to  my 
clients." 

Carrington  smiled. 

"I  might  do  the  inventing  for  you." 

Again  the  lawyer  stared  at  him  and  again  there 
was  the  same  extreme  caution  in  his  eye,  mingled 
with  a  hint  of  suspicion. 

"I'll  think  about  it,"  he  said. 

"I  want  to  see  him  immediately." 

"Call  again  to-morrow  morning." 

Carrington's  manner  altered  at  once  into  his 
usual  easy-going  air. 

"Very  well,  then,  Mr.  Rattar,"  said  he  as  he 
rose. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Simon,  "you  have  been  out 
at  Keldale  this  morning,  I  presume?" 

"Yes,"  said  Carrington  carelessly,  "but  there 
is  really  nothing  new  to  be  found." 

Simon  looked  at  him  hard. 

"No  fresh  evidence?" 

Carrington  laughed. 

"Not  likely,  after  you  and  your  sleuth  hounds 
had  been  over  the  ground!" 

He  went  to  the  door,  and  there  Simon  again 
spoke. 

"What  are  you  doing  next?" 

"Upon  my  word,  I  am  rather  wondering.  I 
must  think  about  it.  Good  morning." 


200  SIMON 

For  a  man  who  was  rather  wondering,  Mr. 
Carrington's  next  movements  were  remarkably 
prompt.  He  first  went  straight  to  the  Post  Office 
and  dispatched  a  wire.  It  was  addressed  to  Sir 
Malcolm  Cromarty  and  it  ran — "Come  immedi- 
ately urgent  news  don't  answer  please  don't  de- 
lay." The  only  thing  that  seemed  to  indicate  a 
wondering  and  abstracted  mind  was  the  signa- 
ture to  this  message.  Instead  of  "Carrington" 
he  actually  wrote  "Cicely  Farmond." 

He  then  hurried  to  the  hotel,  which  he  reached 
at  one-fifty.  In  ten  minutes  he  had  bolted  a  hasty 
lunch  and  at  two  o'clock  was  sitting  in  the  car 
again. 

"To  Stanesland  Castle,"  he  commanded.  "And 
be  as  quick  as  you  can." 


XXVI 


ME.  CAHRINGTON'S  interview  with  the  laird  of 
Stanesland  began  on  much  the  same  lines  as 
his  talk  with  Bisset.  The  amiable  visitor  was 
shown  into  the  laird's  smoking  room — an  apart- 
ment with  vast  walls  like  a  dungeon  and  on  them 
trophies  from  the  laird's  adventurous  days,  and 
proceeded  to  make  enquiry  whether  Mr.  Crom- 
arty  was  disposed  to  let  his  shootings  for  next 
season,  or,  if  not,  whether  he  could  recommend 
any  others. 

As  the  visitor  was  in  no  hurry,  he  declared,  to 
fix  anything  up,  it  was  very  natural  that  this 
conversation,  like  the  morning's,  should  event- 
ually turn  on  to  the  subject  of  the  great  local 
mystery.  Through  it  all  Mr.  Carrington's  mon- 
ocle was  more  continually  fixed  on  the  other  than 
usual,  but  if  he  were  looking  for  peculiarities  in 
the  laird's  manner  or  any  admissions  made  either 
by  tongue  or  eye,  he  was  disappointed.  Crom- 
arty  was  as  breezy  and  as  direct  as  ever,  but  even 
when  his  visitor  confessed  his  extreme  interest  in 
such  cases  of  remarkable  crime,  he  (to  all  seem- 
ing) scented  nothing  in  this  beyond  a  not  un- 
common hobby.  There  was  no  doubt,  however, 
of  his  keenness  to  discuss  the  subject.  Carring- 

201 


202  SIMON 

ton  gave  him  an  entertaining  account  of  his 
efforts  to  assist  Mr.  Bisset,  and  then  Ned  asked: 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  his  theory  that  the 
man  came  in  by  the  window?" 

Carrington  smiled. 

"Bisset  is  evidently  extremely  anxious  to  save 
the  credit  of  the  family." 

Ned  Cromarty  was  aroused  now. 

"Good  God!"  he  cried.  "But  do  you  mean  to 
say  that  you  think  that  story  will  hold  water?" 

"What  story?"  enquired  Carrington  mildly. 

"You  know  what  I  mean — the  scandal  that  Sir 
Malcolm  and — and  a  lady  were  concerned  in  the 
murder." 

"They  are  said  to  have  actually  committed  it, 
aren't  they?" 

Ned's  eye  began  to  look  dangerous. 

"Do  you  think  it's  credible?"  he  asked  brusque- 

iy. 

"You  know  them  better  than  I.  Do  you  think 
it  is?" 

"Not  for  an  instant!" 

"I  haven't  met  Sir  Malcolm,"  said  Carring- 
ton, wiping  his  eye-glass  en  his  handkerchief.  "I 
can't  judge  of  him.  What  sort  of  a  fellow  is 
he?" 

"A  bit  of  a  young  squirt,"  said  Ned  candidly. 
"But  I'll  not  believe  he's  a  murderer  till  I  get 
some  proof  of  it." 

"And  Miss  Farmond?  Is  she  at  all  a  mur- 
derous lady?" 

He  fixed  his  monocle  in  his  eye  just  in  time  to 


AT  STANESLAND  203 

see  his  host  control  himself  after  what  seemed 
to  have  been  a  somewhat  violent  spasm. 

."I'll  stake  my  life  on  her  innocence!"  said  Ned, 
and  it  was  hard  to  know  whether  his  manner  as 
he  said  this  should  be  termed  fierce  or  solemn. 

For  the  space  of  perhaps  two  seconds  Car- 
rington's  eye-glass  stared  very  straight  at  him, 
and  immediately  afterwards  was  taken  out  for 
cleaning  again,  while  its  owner  seemed  to  have 
found  some  new  food  for  thought.  The  silence 
was  broken  by  Ned  asking  brusquely : 

"Don't  you  believe  me?" 

Again  his  visitor  fixed  the  monocle  in  his  eye, 
and  he  answered  now  very  quietly  and  deliber- 
ately: 

"I  happened  to  meet  a  young  lady  one  after- 
noon, whom  I  discovered  to  be  Miss  Farmond. 
My  own  impression — for  what  it  is  worth — is 
that  it  would  be  a  mere  waste  of  time  to  investi- 
gate the  suspicion  against  her,  supposing,  that 
is,  that  one  were  a  detective  or  anything  of  that 
kind  engaged  in  this  case." 

"You  think  she  is  innocent?"  asked  Ned  ea- 
gerly. 

"I  am  quite  certain  of  it,  so  far  as  I  am  any 
judge." 

Ned  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  for  an  instant 
a  smile  flitted  across  Carrington's  face.  It  seemed 
as  though  he  were  amused  at  such  a  tribute  to  the 
opinion  of  a  mere  chance  visitor. 

"And  Sir  Malcolm?"  enquired  Ned. 

Carrington  shook  his  head. 


204  SIMON 

"I  have  no  means  of  judging — yet." 

Ned  glanced  at  him  quickly. 

"Do  you  expect  to  get  hold  of  a  means?" 

Carrington's  smile  was  his  only  answer  to  the 
question.  And  then,  still  smiling,  he  said: 

"I  rather  wonder,  Mr.  Cromarty,  that  you 
who  have  taken  so  much  interest  in  this  case,  and 
who  are,  I  am  told,  the  head  of  the  family,  don't 
get  some  professional  assistance  to  help  you  to 
get  at  the  bottom  of  it." 

Ned's  mouth  shut  hard  and  his  eyes  turned  to 
the  fire.  He  said  nothing  for  a  moment  and 
then  remarked : 

"Well,  I  guess  that's  worth  thinking  over." 

Carrington's  shoulders  moved  in  an  almost 
imperceptible  shrug,  but  he  made  no  comment 
aloud.  In  a  moment  Ned  said: 

"Supposing  those  two  are  scored  out,  there 
doesn't  seem  to  be  anybody  else  inside  the  house 
who  could  have  committed  the  crime,  does  there  ? 
You  wouldn't  suspect  Lady  Cromarty  or  Bisset, 
would  you?" 

"Lady  Cromarty  is  physically  incapable  of 
giving  her  husband  the  blow  he  must  have  re- 
ceived. Besides,  they  were  a  very  devoted  couple, 
I  understand,  and  she  gained  nothing  by  his 
death — lost  heavily,  in  fact.  As  for  Bisset— 
Carrington  let  his  smile  finish  the  sentence. 

"Then  it  must  have  been  some  one  from  out- 
side— but  who?" 

"Can  you  think  of  any  one?"  asked  Carring- 
ton. 


AT  STANESLAND  205 

Ned  shook  his  head  emphatically. 

"Can  you?"  he  asked. 

"Me?"  said  his  visitor  with  an  innocent  air,  and 
yet  with  a  twinkle  for  an  instant  in  his  eye.  "I 
am  a  mere  stranger  to  the  place,  and  if  you  and 
Mr.  Rattar  and  the  police  are  baffled,  what  can 
I  suggest?" 

Ned  seemed  for  a  moment  a  trifle  discon- 
certed. Then  he  said: 

"That's  so,  of  course,  Mr.  Carrington.  But 
since  we  happen  to  be  talking  about  it — well,  I 
guess  I'm  quite  curious  to  know  if  any  ideas  have 
just  happened  to  occur  to  you." 

"Well,"  said  the  other,  "betAveen  ourselves,  Mr. 
Cromarty,  and  speaking  quite  confidentially,  one 
idea  has  struck  me  very  forcibly." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Ned  eagerly. 

"Simply  this,  that  though  it  might  be  con- 
ceivable to  think  of  somebody  or  other,  the  diffi- 
culty that  stares  me  in  the  face  is — motive  1" 

Ned's  face  fell. 

"Well,  that's  what  has  struck  all  of  us." 

"Sir  Reginald  was  a  popular  landlord,  I  hear." 

"The  most  popular  in  the  county." 

"This  isn't  Ireland,"  continued  Carrington. 
"Tenants  don't  lay  out  their  landlords  on  prin- 
ciple, and  in  this  particular  instance  they  would 
simply  stand  to  lose  by  his  death.  Then  take  his 
tradesmen  and  his  agent  and  so  on,  they  all  stand 
to  lose  too.  An  illicit  love  affair  and  a  vengeful 
swain  might  be  a  conceivable  theory,  if  his  char- 
acter gave  colour  to  it;  but  there's  not  a  hint  of 


206  SIMON 

that,  and  some  rumour  would  have  got  about  for 
certain  if  that  had  been  the  case." 

"You  may  dismiss  that,"  said  Ned  emphat- 
ically. 

"Then  there  you  are — what's  the  motive?" 

"If  one  could  think  of  a  possible  man,  one 
could  probably  think  of  a  possible  motive." 

On  Carrington's  face  a  curious  look  appeared 
for  an  instant. 

"I  only  wish  one  could,"  he  murmured. 

A  gong  sounded  and  Ned  rose. 

"That  means  tea,"  said  he.  "I  always  have  it 
in  my  sister's  room.  Come  up." 

They  went  up  the  stone  stair  and  turned  into 
Miss  Cromarty's  boudoir.  On  her,  Mr.  Carring- 
ton  produced  a  favourable  impression  that  was 
evident  at  once.  At  all  times  she  liked  good- 
looking  and  agreeable  gentlemen,  and  lately  she 
had  been  suffering  from  a  dearth  of  them.  She 
had  been  suffering  also  from  her  brother's  pig- 
headed refusal  to  reconsider  his  decision  not  to 
buy  a  car ;  and  finally  from  the  lack  of  some  one 
to  sympathise  with  her  in  this  matter.  In  the 
opulent-looking  and  sportingly  attired  Mr.  Car- 
rington  she  quickly  perceived  a  kindred  spirit, 
and  having  a  tongue  that  was  not  easily  intimi- 
dated even  by  the  formidable  looking  laird,  she 
launched  into  her  grievance.  They  had  been 
talking  about  the  long  distances  that  separated 
most  of  the  mansions  in  the  county. 

"Isn't  it  ridiculous,  Mr.  Carrington,"  said 
she,  "we  haven't  got  a  car!" 


AT  STANESLAND  207 

"Absurd,"  agreed  Mr.  Carrington,  helping 
himself  to  cake. 

"Do  you  know,  this  brother  of  mine  here  has 
actually  come  into  a  fortune,  and  yet  he  won't 
buy  me  even  one  little  motor  car!" 

Ned  frowned  and  muttered  something  that 
might  have  checked  their  visitor's  reply,  had  he 
noticed  the  laird's  displeasure,  but  for  the  mo- 
ment he  seemed  to  have  become  very  unobserving. 

"Come  into  a  fortune?"  said  he.  "What  a  bit 
of  luck!  How  much — a  million — two  million?" 

"Oh,  not  as  much  as  that,  worse  luck!  But 
quite  enough  to  buy  at  least  three  decent  cars  if 
he  was  half  a  sportsman !  And  he  won't  get  one !" 

Mr.  Carrington  was  now  trying  to  balance  his 
cake  in  his  saucer  and  was  evidently  too  ab- 
sorbed in  his  efforts  to  notice  his  host's  waxing 
displeasure. 

"In  my  experience,"  said  he,  "you  can't  get 
a  decent  car  much  under  four  hundred." 

"Well,"  said  she,  "that's  just  the  figure  it 
would  bring  it  to." 

"Lilian!"  muttered  her  brother  wrathfully. 

But  at  that  moment  Mr.  Carrington  coughed, 
evidently  over  a  cake  crumb,  and  failed  to  hear 
the  expostulation. 

"But  perhaps  he  is  going  to  buy  you  something 
even  handsomer  instead,"  he  suggested. 

"Is  he !"  she  scoffed,  with  a  defiant  eye  on  her 
brother.  "I  believe  he's  going  to  blue  it  in  some- 
thing too  scandalous  to  talk  about  in  mixed  soci- 


208  SIMON 

ety!  Anyhow  it's  something  too  mysterious  to 
tell  me!" 

By  this  time  Ned's  face  was  a  thundercloud  in 
which  lightning  was  clearly  imminent,  but  Mr. 
Carrington  now  recovered  his  wonted  tact  as  sud- 
denly as  he  had  lost  it. 

"That  reminds  me  of  a  very  curious  story  I 
heard  at  my  club  the  other  day,"  he  began,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  the  conversation  was  far  away 
from  Miss  Cromarty's  grievances.  And  then, 
having  finished  his  cup  of  tea,  he  looked  at  his 
watch  with  an  exclamation  and  protested  that  he 
must  depart  on  the  instant. 

As  he  lay  back  in  his  car  he  murmured  with  a 
satisfied  smile: 

"That's  settled  anyhow!" 

And  then  for  the  whole  drive  home  he  fell  very 
thoughtful  indeed.  Only  one  incident  aroused 
him,  and  that  but  for  a  moment.  It  was  quite 
dark  by  this  time,  and  somewhere  between  the 
Keldale  House  lodge  and  the  town,  the  lamps  of 
the  car  swept  for  an  instant  over  a  girl  riding  a 
bicycle  in  the  opposite  direction.  Carrington 
looked  round  quickly  and  saw  that  she  was  Miss 
Cicely  Farmond. 


XXVII 

FLIGHT 

ON  the  morning  after  his  visit  from  Mr.  Car- 
rington,  Ned  Cromarty  took  his  keeper  with  him 
and  drove  over  to  shoot  on  a  friend's  estate.  He 
stayed  for  tea  and  it  was  well  after  five  o'clock 
and  quite  dark  when  he  started  on  his  long 
drive  home.  The  road  passed  close  to  a  wayside 
station  with  a  level  crossing  over  the  line,  and 
when  they  came  to  this  the  gates  were  closed 
against  them  and  the  light  of  the  signal  of  the 
up  line  had  changed  fom  red  to  white. 

"Train's  up  to  time,"  said  Ned  to  the  keeper. 
"I  thought  we'd  have  got  through  before  she 
came." 

There  was  no  moon,  a  fine  rain  hung  in  the 
air,  and  the  night  was  already  pitch  dark.  Sit- 
ting there  in  the  dogcart  before  the  closed  gates, 
behind  the  blinding  light  of  the  gig  lamps,  they 
were  quite  invisible  themselves;  but  about  thirty 
yards  to  their  left  they  saw  the  station  platform 
plainly  in  the  radiance  of  its  lights,  and,  straight 
before  them  in  the  radiance  of  their  own,  they 
could  see  less  distinctly  the  road  beyond  the  line. 

At  first,  save  for  the  distant  rumble  of  the 
southward  bound  train,  there  was  no  sign  of  life 
or  of  movement  anywhere,  and  then  all  at  once 

209 


210  SIMON 

a  figure  on  a  bicycle  appeared  on  the  road,  and 
in  a  moment  dismounted  beside  the  station.  It 
was  a  girl  in  black,  and  at  the  sight  of  her,  Ned 
bent  forward  suddenly  in  his  driving  seat  and 
stared  intently  into  the  night.  Pie  saw  her  un- 
strap a  small  suit  case  from  the  bicycle  and  lead 
the  bicycle  into  the  station.  A  minute  or  two 
passed  and  then  she  emerged  from  the  ticket 
office  on  to  the  platform  carrying  the  suit  case  in 
her  hand.  The  bicycle  she  had  evidently  left  in 
the  station,  and  it  seemed  manifest  that  she  was 
going  by  this  train. 

"That's  Miss  Farmondy  sir,  from  Keldale 
House!"  exclaimed  the  keeper. 

His  master  said  nothing  but  kept  his  eye  in- 
tently fixed  on  the  girl.  One  of  the  platform 
lamps  lit  her  plainly,  and  he  thought  she  looked 
the  most  forlorn  and  moving  sight  that  had  ever 
stirred  his  heart.  There  was  something  shrink- 
ing in  her  attitude,  and  when  she  looked  once  for 
a  few  moments  straight  towards  him,  there 
seemed  to  be  something  both  sad  and  frightened 
in  her  face.  Not  another  soul  was  on  the  plat- 
form, and  seen  in  that  patch  of  light  against  an 
immensity  of  dark  empty  country  and  black  sky, 
she  gave  him  such  an  impression  of  friendless- 
ness  that  he  could  scarcely  stay  in  his  seat.  And 
all  the  while  the  roar  of  the  on-coming  train  was 
growing  louder  and  ever  louder.  In  a  few  min- 
utes she  would  be  gone— "Where  ?"  he  asked 
himself. 

"I'm  wondering  where  she'll  be  going  at  this 


FLIGHT  211 

time  o'  night  with  nae  mair  luggage  than  yon," 
said  the  keeper. 

That  decided  it. 

"Take  the  trap  home  and  tell  Miss  Cromarty 
not  to  expect  me  to-night,"  said  his  master, 
quickly.  "Say  I've  gone — oh,  anywhere  you 
derned  well  like !  There's  something  up  and  I'm 
going  to  see  what  it  is." 

He  jumped  quietly  on  the  road  just  as  the 
engine  thundered  between  the  gates  in  front.  By 
the  time  the  train  was  at  rest,  he  was  over  the 
gate  and  making  his  way  to  the  platform.  He 
stopped  in  the  darkness  hy  the  rear  end  of  the 
train  till  he  saw  the  figure  in  black  disappear 
into  a  carriage,  and  then  he  stepped  into  a  com- 
partment near  the  guard's  van. 

"Haven't  got  a  ticket,  but  I'll  pay  as  I  go 
along,"  he  said  to  the  guard  as  he  passed  the 
window. 

The  guard  knew  Mr.  Cromarty  well  and 
touched  his  cap,  and  then  the  train  started  and 
Mr.  Cromarty  was  embarked  upon  what  he  con- 
fessed to  himself  was  the  blindest  journey  he  had 
ever  made  in  all  his  varied  career. 

Where  was  she  going — and  why  was  she  going? 
He  asked  himself  these  questions  over  and  over 
again  as  he  sat  with  a  cigar  between  his  teeth 
and  his  long  legs  stretched  out  on  the  opposite 
seat,  and  the  train  drove  on  into  an  ever  wilder 
and  more  desolate  land.  It  would  be  very  many 
miles  and  a  couple  of  hours  or  more  before  they 
reached  any  sort  of  conceivable  destination  for 


SIMON 

her,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  this  train  did  not  go 
beyond  that  destination.  Then  it  struck  him 
sharply  that  up  till  the  end  of  last  month  the 
train  had  continued  its  southward  journey.  The 
alteration  in  the  timetable  was  only  a  few  days 
old.  Possibly  she  was  not  aware  of  it  and  had 
counted  on  travelling  to — where?  He  knew 
where  she  had  got  to  stop,  but  where  had  she 
meant  to  stop?  Or  where  would  she  go  to- 
morrow? And  above  all,  why  was  she  going  at 
all,  leaving  her  bicycle  at  a  wayside  station  and 
with  her  sole  luggage  a  small  suit  case?  Ned 
shook  his  head,  tried  to  suck  life  into  his  neglected 
cigar,  and  gave  up  the  problem  in  the  meanwhile. 

As  to  the  question  of  what  business  he  had 
to  be  following  Miss  Farmond  like  this,  he 
troubled  his  head  about  it  not  at  all.  If  she 
needed  him,  here  he  was.  If  she  didn't,  he  would 
clear  out.  But  very  strong  and  very  urgent  was 
the  conviction  that  she  required  a  friend  of  some 
sort. 

The  stations  were  few  and  far  between  and 
most  desolate,  improbable  places  as  endings  for 
Cicely  Farmond's  journey.  He  looked  out  of 
the  window  at  each  of  them,  but  she  never 
alighted. 

"She's  going  to  find  herself  stuck  for  the  night. 
That's  about  the  size  of  it,"  he  said  to  himself 
as  they  left  the  last  station  before  the  journey 
ended. 

Though  their  next  stop  was  the  final  stop,  he 
did  not  open  the  carriage  door  when  the  train 


FLIGHT  213 

pulled  up.  He  did  not  even  put  his  head  far  out 
of  the  window,  only  just  enough  to  see  what 
passed  on  the  platform  ahead. 

"I'm  not  going  to  worry  her  if  she  doesn't  need 
me,"  he  said  to  himself. 

He  saw  the  slip  of  a  figure  in  black  talking  to 
the  stationmaster,  and  it  was  hardly  necessary  to 
hear  that  official's  last  words  in  order  to  divine 
what  had  happened. 

"Weel,  miss,"  he  overheard  the  stationmaster 
say,  "I'm  sorry  ye're  disappointed,  but  it's  no  me 
that  has  stoppit  the  train.  It's  afF  for  the  winter. 
If  ye  turn  to  the  left  ye'll  fin'  the  hotel." 

The  girl  looked  round  her  slowly  and  it  seemed 
to  Ned  that  the  way  she  did  it  epitomised  dis- 
appointment and  desolation,  and  then  she  hur- 
ried through  the  station  buildings  and  was  gone. 

He  was  out  of  the  carriage  and  after  her  in 
an  instant.  Beyond  the  station  the  darkness  was 
intense  and  he  had  almost  passed  a  road  branch- 
ing to  the  left  without  seeing  it.  He  stopped 
and  was  going  to  turn  down  it  when  it  struck 
him  the  silence  was  intense  that  way,  but  that 
there  was  a  light  sound  of  retreating  footsteps 
straight  ahead. 

"She's  missed  the  turning!"  he  said  to  himself, 
and  followed  the  footsteps. 

In  a  little  he  could  see  her  against  the  sky,  a 
dim  hurrying  figure,  and  his  own  stride  quick- 
ened. He  had  never  been  in  this  place  before, 
but  he  knew  it  for  a  mere  seaboard  village  with 
an  utterly  lonely  country  on  every  inland  side. 


SIMON 

She  was  heading  into  a  black  wilderness,  and  he 
took  his  decision  at  once  and  increased  his  pace 
till  he  was  overhauling  her  fast. 

At  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  he  could  see  that 
she  glanced  over  her  shoulder  and  made  the  more 
haste  till  she  was  almost  running.  And  then  as 
she  heard  the  pursuing  steps  always  nearer  she 
suddenly  slackened  speed  to  let  him  pass. 

"Miss  Farmond!"  said  he. 

He  could  hear  her  gasp  as  she  stopped  short 
and  turned  sharply.  She  was  staring  hard  now 
at  the  tall  figure  looming  above  her. 

"It's  only  me — Ned  Cromarty,"  he  said 
quietly. 

And  then  he  started  in  turn,  for  instead  of 
showing  relief  she  gave  a  half  smothered  little 
cry  and  shrank  away  from  him.  For  a  moment 
there  was  dead  silence  and  then  he  said,  still 
quietly,  though  it  cost  him  an  effort. 

"I  only  mean  to  help  you  if  you  need  a  hand. 
Are  you  looking  for  the  hotel?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  in  a  low  frightened  voice. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  guess  you'd  walk  till  morn- 
ing before  you  reached  an  hotel  along  this  road. 
You  missed  the  turning  at  the  station.  Give  me 
your  bag.  Come  along!" 

She  let  him  take  the  suit  case  and  she  turned 
back  with  him,  but  it  struck  him  painfully  that 
her  docility  was  like  that  of  a  frightened  animal. 

"Where  are  you  bound  for?"  he  enquired  in  his 
usual  direct  way. 

She  murmured  something  that  he  could  not 


FLIGHT  215 

catch  and  then  they  fell  altogether  silent  till  they 
had  retraced  their  road  to  the  station  and  turned 
down  towards  a  twinkling  light  or  two  which 
showed  where  the  village  lay. 

"Now,  Miss  Farmond,"  said  he,  "we  are  get- 
ting near  this  pub  and  as  we've  both  got  to  spend 
the  night  there,  you'll  please  observe  these  few 
short  and  simple  rules.  I'm  your  uncle — Uncle 
Ned.  D'you  see?" 

There  was  no  laugh,  or  even  a  smile  from  her. 
She  gave  a  little  start  of  surprise  and  in  a  very 
confused  voice  murmured : 

"Yes,  I  see." 

"My  full  name  is  Mr.  Ned  Dawkins  and  you're 
Louisa  Dawkins  my  niece.  Just  call  me  'Uncle 
Ned'  and  leave  me  to  do  the  talking.  We  are 
touring  this  beautiful  country  and  I've  lost  my 
luggage  owing  to  the  derned  foolishness  of  the 
railroad  officials  here.  And  then  when  we've  had 
a  little  bit  of  dinner  you  can  tell  me,  if  you  like, 
why  you've  eloped  and  why  you've  got  a  down 
on  me.  Or  if  you  don't  like  to,  well,  you  needn't. 
Ah,  here's  the  pub  at  last." 

He  threw  open  the  door  and  in  a  loud  and 
cheerful  voice  cried: 

"Well,  here  we  are,  Louisa.  Walk  right  in, 
my  dear!" 


XXVIII 

THE  RETURN 

His  friends  would  scarcely  have  picked  out 
Mr.  Ned  Cromarty  of  Stanesland  as  likely  to 
make  a  distinguished  actor,  but  they  might  have 
changed  their  opinion  had  they  heard  him  breezily 
announce  himself  as  Mr.  Dawkins  from  Liver- 
pool and  curse  the  Scottish  railways  which  had 
lost  his  luggage  for  him.  It  is  true  that  the  land- 
lord looked  at  him  a  trifle  askance  and  that  the 
landlady  and  her  maid  exchanged  a  knowing 
smile  when  he  ordered  a  room  for  his  niece 
Louisa,  but  few  people  shut  up  in  a  little  country 
inn  with  such  a  formidable  looking,  loud  voiced 
giant,  would  have  ventured  to  question  his  state- 
ments openly,  and  the  equanimity  of  Mr.  Daw- 
kins  remained  undisturbed. 

"Sit  right  down,  Louisa!"  he  commanded  when 
dinner  was  served ;  and  then,  addressing  the  maid, 
"You  needn't  wait.  We'll  ring  when  we  need 
you." 

But  the  moment  she  had  gone  he  checked  a 
strong  expression  with  an  effort. 

"Dam — confound  it!"  he  cried.  "I  ought  to 
have  remembered  to  say  grace !  That  would  have 
given  just  the  finishing  touch  to  the  Uncle  Ned 

216 


THE  RETURN  217 

business.  However,  I  don't  think  they've  smelt 
any  rats." 

Cicely  smiled  faintly  and  then  her  eyes  fell  and 
she  answered  nothing.  Their  only  other  conver- 
sation during  dinner  consisted  in  his  expostula- 
tions on  her  small  appetite  and  her  low- voiced 
protests  that  she  wasn't  hungry.  But  when  it 
was  safely  over,  he  pushed  back  his  chair,  crossed 
his  knees,  and  began: 

"Now,  Louisa,  I'm  going  to  take  an  uncle's 
privilege  of  lighting  my  pipe  before  I  begin  to 
talk,  if  you  don't  mind." 

He  lit  his  pipe,  and  then  suddenly  dropping 
the  role  of  uncle  altogether,  said  gently: 

"I  don't  want  to  press  you  with  any  questions 
that  you  don't  want  to  answer,  but  if  you  need 
a  friend  of  any  sort,  size,  or  description,  here  I 
am."  He  paused  for  a  moment  and  then  asked 
still  more  gently:  "Are  you  afraid  of  me?" 

For  the  first  time  she  let  her  long-lashed  eyes 
rest  full  on  his  face  and  in  her  low  voice,  she 
answered : 

"Partly  afraid." 

"And  partly  what  else?" 

"Partly  puzzled — and  partly  ashamed." 

"Ashamed!"  he  exclaimed  with  a  note  of  indig- 
nant protest.  "Ashamed  of  what?" 

"The  exhibition  I've  made  of  myself,"  she  said, 
her  voice  still  very  low. 

"Well,"  he  smiled,  "that's  a  matter  of  opinion. 
But  why  are  you  afraid?" 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed.    "You  know  of  course!" 


218  SIMON 

He  stared  at  her  blankly. 

"I  pass;  I  can't  play  to  that!"  he  replied.  "I 
honestly  do  not  know,  Miss  Farmond." 

Her  eyes  opened  very  wide. 

"That's  what  I  meant  when  I  said  I  was 
puzzled.  You  miist  know — and  yet—  — !" 

She  broke  off  and  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 

"Look  here,"  said  he,  "some  one's  got  to  solve 
this  mystery,  and  I'll  risk  a  leading  question. 
Why  did  you  run  away?" 

"Because  of  what  you  have  been  doing!" 

"Me  been  doing!  And  what  have  I  been 
doing?" 

"Suspecting  me  and  setting  a  detective  to 
watch  me!" 

Ned's  one  eye  opened  wide,  but  for  a  moment 
he  said  not  a  word.  Then  he  remarked  quietly: 

"This  is  going  to  be  a  derned  complicated  busi- 
ness. Just  you  begin  at  the  beginning,  please, 
and  let's  see  how  things  stand.  Who  told  you  I 
was  setting  a  detective  on  to  you?" 

"I  found  out  myself  I  was  being  watched." 

"How  and  when?" 

She  hesitated,  and  the  doubtful  look  returned 
to  her  eyes. 

"Come,  Louisa!"  he  said.  "No  nonsense  this 
time !  We've  got  to  have  this  out — or  my  name's 
Dawkins!" 

For  the  first  time  she  smiled  spontaneously, 
and  the  doubtful  look  almost  vanished.  Just  a 
trace  was  left,  but  her  voice,  though  still  very 
low,  was  firmer  now. 


THE  RETURN  219 

"I  only  discovered  for  the  first  time  the  wicked 
suspicion  about  poor  Malcolm,"  she  said,  "when  I 
met  a  gentleman  a  few  days  ago  who  told  me  he 
had  heard  Malcolm  was  arrested  for  the  murder 
of  Sir  Reginald." 

"But  that's  not  true!"  cried  Ned. 

"No,  and  he  admitted  it  was  only  a  story  he 
had  heard  at  the  hotel,  but  it  suddenly  seemed  to 
throw  light  on  several  things  I  hadn't  been  able 
to  understand.  I  spoke  to  Lady  Cromarty  about 
it,  and  then  I  actually  found  that  I  was  suspected 
too!" 

"Did  she  tell  you  so?" 

"Not  in  so  many  words,  but  I  knew  what  was 
in  her  mind.  And  then  the  very  next  day  I 
caught  the  same  man  examining  the  library  with 
Bisset  and  I  saw  him  out  of  the  window  follow 
Lady  Cromarty  and  speak  to  her,  and  then  I 
knew  he  was  a  detective!" 

"How  did  you  know?" 

"Oh,  by  instinct,  and  I  was  right!  The  posi- 
tion was  so  horrible — so  unbearable,  that  I  went 
in  to  see  Mr.  Rattar  about  it." 

"Why  Rattar?" 

"Because  he  is  the  family  lawyer  and  he's  also 
investigating  the  case,  and  I  thought  of  course 
he  was  employing  the  detective.  And  Mr.  Rattar 
told  me  you  were  really  employing  him.  Are 
you?" 

There  was  a  pleading  note  in  this  question — a 
longing  to  hear  the  answer  "No  "  that  seemed  to 
affect  Ned  strangely. 


220  SIMON 

"It's  all  right,  Miss  Farmond!"  he  said.  "Don't 
you  worry!  I  got  that  man  down  here  to  clear 
you — just  for  that  purpose  and  no  other!" 

"But "  she  exclaimed,  "Mr.  Rattar  said 

you  suspected  Malcolm  and  me  and  were  deter- 
mined to  prove  our  guilt!" 

"Simon  Rattar  said  that!" 

There  was  something  so  menacing  in  his  voice 
that  Cicely  involuntarily  shrank  back. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  honour  bright,  that 
Simon  Rattar  told  you  that  lie  in  so  many 
words?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "he  did  indeed.  And  he  said 
that  this  Mr.  Carrington  was  a  very  clever  man 
and  was  almost  certain  to  trump  up  a  very  strong 
case  against  us,  and  so  he  advised  me  to  go  away." 

He  seemed  almost  incapable  of  speech  at  this. 

"He  actually  advised  you  to  bolt?" 

She  nodded. 

"To  slip  away  quietly  to  London  and  stay  in  an 
hotel  he  recommended  till  I  heard  from  him.  He 
said  you  had  sworn  to  track  down  the  criminals 
and  hang  them  with  your  own  hands,  and  so  when 
I  saw  you  suddenly  come  up  behind  me  in  that 
dark  road  to-night — oh,  you've  no  idea  how  terri- 
fied I  was !  Mr.  Rattar  had  frightened  away  all 
the  nerve  I  ever  had,  and  then  when  I  thought  I 
was  safely  away,  you  suddenly  came  up  behind 
me  in  that  dark  road !" 

"You  poor  little "  he  began,  laying  his  hand 

upon  hers,  and  then  he  remembered  Sir  Malcolm 
and  altered  his  sentence  into:  "You  know  now 


THE  RETURN 

that  was  all  one  infernal  pack  of  lies,  don't  you?" 

Though  he  took  away  his  hand,  she  had  not 
moved  her  own,  and  she  gave  him  now  a  look 
which  richly  rewarded  him  for  his  evening's  work. 

"I  believe  every  word  you  tell  me,"  she  said. 

"Well  then,"  said  Ned,  "I  tell  you  that  I  got 
this  fellow  Carrington  down  to  take  up  the 
case  so  that  I  could  clear  you  in  the  first  place 
and  find  the  right  man  in  the  second.  So  as  to 
give  him  an  absolutely  clear  field,  he  wasn't  told 
who  was  employing  him,  and  then  he  could  sus- 
pect me  myself  if  he  wanted  to.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  I  rather  think  he  has  guessed  who's  running 
him.  Anyhow,  yesterday  afternoon  he  told  me 
straight  and  emphatically  that  he  knew  you  were 
innocent.  So  you've  run  away  a  day  too  late!" 

She  laughed  at  last,  and  then  fell  serious  again. 

"But  what  did  Mr.  Rattar  mean  by  saying 
you  had  engaged  the  detective  because  you  sus- 
pected Malcolm  and  me?" 

"That's  precisely  what  I  want  to  find  out," 
said  Ned  grimly.  "He  could  guess  easy  enough 
who  was  employing  Carrington,  because  I  had 
suggested  getting  a  detective,  only  Simon 
wouldn't  rise  to  it.  But  as  to  saying  I  suspected 
you,  he  knew  that  was  a  lie,  and  I  can  only  sus- 
pect he's  getting  a  little  tired  of  life!" 

They  talked  on  for  a  little  longer,  still  sitting 
by  the  table,  with  her  eyes  now  constantly  smil- 
ing into  his,  until  at  last  he  had  to  remind  him- 
self so  vigorously  of  the  absent  and  lucky  baro- 
net that  the  pleasure  began  to  ebb.  And  then 


SIMON 

they  said  good-night  and  he  was  left  staring  into 

the  fire. 

•         ••••••• 

Next  morning  they  faced  one  another  in  a  first 
class  carriage  on  a  homeward  bound  train. 

"What  shall  I  say  to  Lady  Cromarty?"  she 
asked,  half  smiling,  half  fearfully. 

He  reflected  for  a  few  minutes. 

"Tell  her  the  truth.  Lies  don't  pay  in  the  long 
run.  I  can  bear  witness  to  this  part  of  the  story, 
and  to  the  Carrington  part  if  necessary,  though 
I  don't  want  to  give  him  away  if  I  can  help  it." 

"Oh  no!"  she  said,  "we  mustn't  interfere  with 
him.  But  supposing  Lady  Cromarty  doesn't  be- 
lieve  " 

"Come  straight  to  Stanesland!    Will  you?" 

"'Run  away  again?" 

"It's  the  direction  you  run  in  that  matters," 
said  he.  "Now,  mind  you,  that's  understood  1" 

She  was  silent  for  a  little  and  then  she  said: 

"I  can't  understand  why  these  horrible  stories 
associate  Malcolm  and  me.  Why  should  we  have 
conspired  to  do  such  a  dreadful  thing?" 

He  stared  at  her,  and  then  hesitated. 

"Because — well,  being  engaged  to  him " 

"Engaged  to  Malcolm!"  she  exclaimed. 
** Whatever  put  that  into  people's  heads?" 

"What!"  he  cried.    "Aren't  you?" 

"Good  gracious  no!  Was  that  the  reason  then?" 

He  seemed  too  lost  in  his  own  thoughts  to 
ansv/er  her;  but  they  were  evidently  not  un- 
happy thoughts  this  time. 


THE  RETURN 

"Who  can  have  started  such  a  story?"  she 
demanded. 

"Who  started  it?"  he  repeated  and  then  was 
immersed  in  thought  again;  only  now  there  was 
a  grim  look  on  his  face. 

"Well  anyhow,"  he  cried,  in  a  minute  or  two, 
"we're  out  of  that  wood!  Aren't  we,  Louisa?" 

"Yes,  Uncle  Ned,"  she  smiled  back. 

He  stirred  impulsively  in  his  seat  and  then 
seemed  to  check  himself,  and  for  the  rest  of  the 
journey  he  appeared  to  be  divided  between  con- 
tent with  the  present  hour  and  an  impulse  to 
improve  upon  it.  And  then  before  he  had  real- 
ised where  they  were,  they  had  stopped  at  a 
station,  and  she  was  exclaiming: 

"Oh,  I  must  get  out  here!  I've  left  my  bike 
in  the  station !" 

"Look  here,"  said  he,  with  his  hand  on  the 
door  handle,  "before  you  go  you've  got  to  swear 
that  you'll  come  straight  to  Stanesland  if  there's 
another  particle  of  trouble.  Swear?" 

"But  what  about  Miss  Cromarty?"  she  smiled. 

"Miss  Cromarty  will  say  precisely  the  same  as 
I  do,"  he  said  with  a  curiously  significant  empha- 
sis. "So  now,  I  don't  open  this  door  till  you 
promise!" 

"I  promise !"  said  she,  and  then  she  was  stand- 
ing on  the  platform  waving  a  farewell. 

"I  half  wish  I'd  risked  it!"  he  said  to  himself 
with  a  sigh  as  the  train  moved  on,  and  then  he 
ruminated  with  an  expression  on  his  face  that 
seemed  to  suggest  a  risk  merely  deferred. 


XXIX 

BROTHER  AND  SISTER 

NED  CROMARTY  found  his  sister  in  her  room. 

"Well,  Ned,"  she  asked,  "where  on  earth  have 
you  been?" 

He  shut  the  door  before  he  answered,  and 
then  came  up  to  the  fireplace,  and  planted  him- 
self in  front  of  her. 

"Who  told  you  that  Cicely  Farmond  was  en- 
gaged to  Malcolm  Cromarty?"  he  demanded. 

She  made  a  little  grimace  of  comic  alarm,  but 
her  eye  was  apprehensive. 

"Don't  eat  my  head  off,  Neddy!  How  can  I 
remember  ?" 

"You've  got  to  remember,"  said  her  brother 
grimly.  "And  you'd  better  be  careful  what  you 
tell  me,  for  I'll  go  straight  to  the  woman,  or  man, 
you  name." 

She  looked  at  him  boldly  enough. 

"I  don't  know  if  you  are  aware  of  it,  but  this 
isn't  the  way  I'm  accustomed  to  be  talked  to." 

"It's  the  way  you're  being  talked  to  now,"  said 
he.  "Who  told  you?" 

"I  absolutely  refuse  to  answer  if  you  speak  to 
me  like  that,  Ned!" 

"Then  we  part  company,  Lilian." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  the  apprehension  in 

224 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER  225 

her  eye  now.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  to  wonder 
whether  he  was  actually  in  earnest,  and  then  to 
decide  that  he  was. 

"I — I  don't  know  who  told  me,"  she  said  in  an 
altered  voice. 

"Did  anybody  tell  you,  or  did  you  make  it  up  ?" 

"I  never  actually  said  they  were  engaged." 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence  and  very  hard,  and 
then  he  spoke  deliberately. 

"I  won't  ask  you  why  you  deceived  me,  Lilian, 
but  it  was  a  low  down  trick  to  play  on  me,  and  it 
has  turned  out  to  be  a  damned  cruel  trick  to  play 
on  that  girl.  I  mentioned  the  engagement  as  a 
mere  matter  of  course  to  somebody,  and  though 
I  mentioned  it  confidentially,  it  started  this  slan- 
der about  Malcolm  Cromarty  and  Cicely  Far- 
mond  conspiring  to  murder — to  murder ',  Lilian! 
•^-the  man  of  all  men  they  owed  most  to.  That's 
what  you've  done!" 

By  this  time  Lilian  Cromarty's  handkerchief 
was  at  her  eyes. 

"I — I  am  very  sorry,  Ned,"  she  murmured. 

But  he  was  not  to  be  soothed  by  a  tear,  even 
in  the  most  adroit  lady's  eye. 

"The  latest  consequence  has  been,"  he  said 
sternly,  "that  through  a  mixture  of  persecution 
and  bad  advice  she  has  been  driven  to  run  away. 
Luckily  I  spotted  her  at  the  start  and  fetched 
her  back,  and  I've  told  her  that  if  there  is  the  least 
little  bit  more  trouble  she  is  to  come  straight  here 
and  that  you  will  give  her  as  good  a  welcome  as 
I  shall.  Is  that  quite  clear?" 


226  SIMON 

"Yes,"  she  murmured  through  her  handker- 
chief. 

"Otherwise,"  said  he,  "there's  no  room  for  us 
both  here.  One  single  suggestion  that  she  isn't 
welcome — and  you  have  full  warning  now  of  the 
consequences !" 

"When  is  she  coming?"  she  asked  in  an  uncer- 
tain voice. 

"When?  Possibly  never.  But  there's  some 
very  fishy — and  it  looks  to  me,  some  very  dirty 
business  going  on,  and  this  port  stands  open  in 
case  of  a  storm.  You  fully  understand?" 

"Of  course  I  do,"  she  said,  putting  away  her 
handkerchief.  "I'm  not  quite  a  fool!" 

And  indeed,  none  of  her  friends  or  acquain- 
tances had  ever  made  that  accusation  against 
Lilian  Cromarty. 

"Well,  that's  all,"  said  Ned,  and  began  to 
move  across  the  room. 

But  now  the  instinct  for  finding  a  scapegoat 
began  to  revive. 

"Who  did  you  tell  it  to,  Ned?"  she  asked. 

"Simon  Rattar." 

"Then  he  has  spread  this  dreadful  story!"  she 
exclaimed  with  righteous  indignation. 

Her  brother  stopped  and  slowly  turned  back. 

"By  heaven,  I've  scarcely  had  time  to  think 
it  all  out  yet — but  it  looks  like  it!" 

"It  must  be  that  nasty  grumpy  old  creature! 
If  you  told  nobody  else — well,  it  can't  be  any- 
body else!" 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER  227 

"But  why  should  he  go  and  spread  such  a 
story?" 

"Because  he  wants  to  shelter  some  one  else  I" 

"Who?" 

"Ah,  that's  for  the  police  to  find  out.  But  I'm 
quite  certain,  Ned,  that  that  pig-headed  old 
Simon  with  his  cod-fish  eyes  and  his  everlasting 
grunt  is  at  the  bottom  of  it  all!" 

He  stared  thoughtfully  into  space. 

"Well,"  he  said  slowly,  "he  has  certainly  been 
asking  for  trouble  in  one  or  two  ways,  and  this 
seems  another  invitation.  But  he'll  get  it,  sure! 
At  the  same  time — what's  his  object?" 

His  sister  had  no  hesitation. 

"Either  to  make  money  or  hide  something  dis- 
graceful. You  really  must  enquire  into  this, 
Ned!" 

He  dropped  into  a  chair  and  sat  for  a  few 
minutes  with  his  face  in  his  hands.  At  last  he 
looked  up  and  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  out  of  my  depth,"  he  said.  "I  guess  I'd 
better  see  Carrington." 

"Mr.  Carrington?"  she  exclaimed. 

"I  had  a  long  talk  with  him,"  he  explained. 
"He  seems  an  uncommon  shrewd  fellow.  Yes, 
that's  the  proper  line!" 

She  looked  at  him  curiously  but  evidently 
judged  it  tactful  in  the  present  delicate  situation 
to  ask  no  more.  He  rose  now  and  went,  still 
thoughtful,  to  the  door. 

"What  a  dreadful  thing  of  Simon  Rattar  to 


228  SIMON 

do!  Wasn't  it,  Ned?"  she  said  indignantly,  her 
eyes  as  bright  as  ever  again. 

He  turned  as  she  went  out. 

"The  whole  thing  has  been  damnable!" 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him  she  made  a  little 
grimace  again  and  then  gave  a  little  shrug. 

"He's  going  to  marry  her!"  she  said  to  herself, 
and  acting  immediately  on  a  happy  inspiration, 
sat  down  to  write  a  long  and  affectionate  letter  to 
an  old  friend  whose  country  house  might,  with 
judicious  management,  be  considered  good  for  a 
six  months'  visit. 


XXX 

A  MARKED  MAN 

THE  unexpected  energy  displayed  by  her 
charming  guest  in  bustling  all  over  the  country 
had  surprised  and  a  little  perplexed  Miss  Peter- 
kin,  but  she  now  decided  that  it  was  only  a  pass- 
ing phase,  for  on  the  day  following  his  visits  to 
Keldale  and  Stanesland  he  exhibited  exactly  the 
same  leisurely  calm  she  had  admired  at  first.  He 
sought  out  the  local  golf  course  and  for  an  hour 
or  two  his  creditable  game  confirmed  his  reputa- 
tion as  a  sportsman,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  time 
he  idled  in  a  very  gentlemanly  manner. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  he  strolled  out 
and  gradually  drifted  through  the  dusk  towards 
the  station.  Finding  the  train  was,  as  usual,  in- 
definitely late,  he  strolled  out  again  and  finally 
drifted  back  just  as  the  signals  had  fallen  at 
last.  It  was  quite  dark  by  this  time  and  the 
platform  lamps  were  lit,  but  Mr.  Carrington 
chanced  to  stand  inconspicuously  in  a  background 
of  shadows.  As  the  engine  hissed  ponderously 
under  the  station  roof  and  the  carriage  doors  be- 
gan to  open,  he  still  stood  there,  the  most  casual 
of  spectators.  A  few  passengers  passed  him, 
and  then  came  a  young  man  in  a  fur  coat,  on 
whom  some  very  curious  glances  had  been  thrown 
when  he  alighted  from  his  first  class  compart- 

229 


230  SIMON 

merit.  Mr.  Carrington,  however,  seemed  to  take 
no  interest  either  in  him  or  anybody  else  till  the 
young  man  was  actually  passing  him,  and  then 
he  suddenly  stepped  out  of  the  shadows,  touched 
him  on  the  shoulder  and  said  in  a  much  deeper 
and  graver  voice  than  usual : 

"Sir  Malcolm  Cromarty,  I  believe!" 

The  young  man  started  violently  and  turned  a 
pale  face. 

"Ye — es,  I  am,"  he  stammered. 

"May  I  have  a  word  with  you?"  said  Carring- 
ton gravely. 

With  a  dreadfully  nervous  air  Sir  Malcolm 
accompanied  him  out  into  the  dark  road,  neither 
speaking,  and  then  the  young  man  demanded 
hoarsely : 

"What  do  you  want  with  me  ?" 

Carrington's  voice  suddenly  resumed  its  usual 
cheerful  note. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said,  "for  collaring  you  like 
this,  but  the  fact  is  I  am  very  keen  to  see  you 
about  the  Keldale  shootings." 

Sir  Malcolm  gave  a  gasp  of  relief. 

"Thank  Heaven!"  he  exclaimed.  "Good 
Lord,  what  a  fright  you  gave  me!" 

"I  say  I'm  awfully  sorry!"  said  Carrington 
anxiously.  "How  frightfully  stupid  I  must  have 
been!" 

The  young  man  looked  at  him,  and,  like  most 
other  people,  evidently  found  his  ingenuous  face 
and  sympathetic  manner  irresistibly  confidence 
inspiring. 


A  MARKED  MAN  231 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  he  said.    "In  fact  you  must 
have  wondered  at  mv  manner.    The  fact  is  Mr. 


-er- 


"Carrington." 

"Mr.  Carrington,  that  I'm  in  a  most  awful 
position  at  present.  You  know  of  course  that 
I'm  suspected  of  murder!" 

"No!"  exclaimed  Carrington,  with  vast  inter- 
est. "Not  really?" 

"It's  an  absolute  fact — suspected  of  murder! 
Good  God,  just  imagine  it!" 

The  young  baronet  stopped  and  faced  his  new 
acquaintance  dramatically.  In  spite  of  his  ner- 
vousness, it  was  evident  that  his  notoriety  had 
compensations. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I — the  head  of  an  ancient  and 
honourable  house — am  actually  suspected  of  hav- 
ing murdered  my  cousin,  Sir  Reginald  Crom- 
arty!" 

"What,  that  murder!"  exclaimed  Carrington. 
"By  Jove,  of  course,  I've  heard  a  lot  about  the 
case.  And  you  are  really  suspected?" 

"So  much  so/'  said  the  baronet  darkly,  "that 
when  you  touched  me  on  the  shoulder  I  actually 
thought  you  were  going  to  arrest  me !" 

Carrington  seemed  equally  astounded  and 
penitent  at  this  unfortunate  reading  of  his  simple 
and  natural  action  in  stepping  suddenly  out  of 
the  dark  and  tapping  a  nervous  stranger  on  the 
shoulder. 

"How  very  tactless  of  me!"  he  repeated  more 


SIMON 

than  once.  "Really,  I  must  be  more  careful 
another  time!" 

And  then  he  suddenly  turned  his  monocle  on 
to  the  baronet  and  enquired : 

"But  how  do  you  know  you  are  suspected?" 

"How  do  I  know!  My  God,  all  fingers  are 
pointing  at  me!  Even  in  my  club  in  London  I 
feel  I  am  a  marked  man.  I  have  discussed  my 
awful  position  with  all  my  friends,  and  by  this 
time  they  tell  me  that  everybody  else  knows  too !" 

"That  is — er — not  unnatural,"  said  Carring- 
ton  drily.  "But  how  did  you  first  learn?" 

The  young  man's  voice  fell  almost  to  a  whisper 
and  he  glanced  apprehensively  over  his  shoulder 
as  he  spoke. 

"I  knew  I  should  be  suspected  the  moment  I 
heard  of  the  crime !  The  very  night  before — per- 
haps at  the  actual  moment  when  the  deed  was 
being  done — I  did  a  foolish  thing!" 

"You  don't  say  so!"  exclaimed  his  new  friend 
with  every  appearance  of  surprise. 

"Yes,  you  may  not  believe  me,  but  I  acted  like 
a  damned  silly  ass.  Mind  you,  I  am  not  as  a  rule 
a  silly  ass,"  the  baronet  added  with  dignity,  "but 
that  night  I  actually  confided  in  a  woman!" 

"What  woman?"' 

"My  relative  Miss  Cicely  Farmond — a  charm- 
ing girl,  I  may  mention ;  there  was  every  excuse 
for  me,  still  it  was  a  rotten  thing  to  do,  I  quite 
admit.  I  told  her  that  I  was  hard  up  and  feeling 
desperate,  and  I  even  said  I  was  going  to  sit  up 
late !  And  on  top  of  that  Sir  Reginald  was  mur- 


A  MARKED  MAN  233 

dered  that  very  night.  Imagine  my  sensations 
for  the  next  few  days,  living  in  the  same  house 
with  the  woman  who  had  heard  me  say  thatl 
She  held  my  fate  in  her  hands,  but,  thank  God, 
she  evidently  had  such  faith  in  my  honour  and 
humanity  that  she  forebore  to — er " 

"Peach,"  suggested  Carrington,  "though  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  fancy  she  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  incident." 

"Forgotten  my  words !"  exclaimed  the  baronet 
indignantly.  "Impossible!  I  can  never  forget 
them  myself  so  long  as  I  live!" 

"Well,"  said  Carrington  soothingly,  "let  us 
suppose  she  remembered  them.  Anyhow  she  said 
nothing,  and,  that  being  so,  how  did  you  first 
actually  know  that  you  were  suspected?" 

"My  own  man  of  business  thought  it  his  duty 
to  drop  me  a  hint !"  cried  the  baronet. 

This  piece  of  information  seemed  to  produce 
quite  as  much  impression  on  his  new  acquain- 
tance as  his  first  revelation,  though  he  took  it 
rather  more  quietly. 

"Really!"  said  he  in  a  curious  voice.  "And 
what  course  of  action  did  he  advise?" 

"He  advised  me  to  keep  away  from  the  place. 
In  fact  he  even  suggested  I  should  go  abroad — 
and,  by  Gad,  I'm  going  too!" 

To  this,  Carrington  made  no  reply  at  all.  His 
thoughts,  in  fact,  seemed  to  have  wandered  en- 
tirely away  from  Sir  Malcolm  Cromarty.  The 
baronet  seemed  a  trifle  disappointed  at  his  lack  of 
adequate  interest. 


SIMON 

"Don't  you  sympathise  with  me,"  he  enquired. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Carrington,  "my 
thoughts  were  wandering  for  the  moment.  I  do 
sympathise.  By  the  way,  what  are  going  to  do 
now?" 

The  baronet  started. 

"By  Gad,  my  own  thoughts  are  wandering!" 
said  he,  "though  I  certainly  have  some  excuse! 
I  must  get  down  to  the  Kings  Arms  and  order  a 
trap  to  take  me  out  to  Keldale  House  as  quickly 
as  I  can."  And  then  he  added  mysteriously,  "I 
only  came  down  here  because  I  was  urgently 
wired  for  by  some  one  who — well,  I  couldn't 
refuse." 

"I'm  going  to  the  Kings  Arms,  too.  We'll 
walk  down  together,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"Delighted,"  said  the  baronet,  "if  you  don't 
mind  being  seen  with  such  a  marked  man." 

"I  rather  like  them  marked,"  smiled  Carring- 
ton. 

All  the  way  to  the  hotel  the  notorious  Sir  Mal- 
colm pursued  what  had  evidently  become  his 
favourite  subject: — the  vast  sensation  he  was 
causing  in  society  and  the  pain  it  gave  a  gentle- 
man of  title  and  position  to  be  placed  in  such  a 
predicament.  When  they  reached  the  Kings 
Arms,  his  new  acquaintance  insisted  in  a  very 
friendly  and  confident  way  that  there  was  no  im- 
mediate hurry  about  starting  for  Keldale,  and 
that  the  baronet  must  come  up  to  his  sitting  room 
first  and  have  a  little  refreshment. 

The  effect  of  a  couple  of  large  glasses  of  sloe 


A  MARKED  MAN  233 

gin  was  quickly  apparent.  Sir  Malcolm  became 
decidedly  happier  and  even  more  confidential. 
He  was  considerably  taken  aback,  however,  when 
his  host  suddenly  asked,  with  a  disconcertingly 
intense  glance : 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you  are  really  innocent?" 

"Innocent!"  exclaimed  the  baronet,  leaping  out 
of  his  chair.  "Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  doubt 
it?  Do  you  actually  believe  I  am  capable  of  kill- 
ing a  man  in  cold  blood?  Especially  the  hon- 
oured head  of  my  own  house?" 

Carrington  seemed  to  suppress  a  smile. 

"No,"  said  he,  "I  don't  believe  it." 

"Then,  sir,"  said  the  baronet  haughtily,  "kindly 
do  not  question  my  honour!" 

This  time  Carrington  allowed  his  smile  to  ap- 
pear. 

"Sit  down,  Sir  Malcolm,"  he  said,  "pull  your- 
self together,  and  listen  to  a  few  words." 

Sir  Malcolm  looked  extremely  surprised,  but 
obeyed. 

"What  I  am  going  to  say  is  in  the  strictest  con- 
fidence and  you  must  give  me  your  word  not  to 
repeat  one  single  thing  I  tell  you." 

His  serious  manner  evidently  impressed  the 
young  man. 

"I  give  you  my  word,  sir,"  said  he. 

"Well  then,  in  the  first  place,  I  am  a  detec- 
tive." 

For  a  few  seconds  Sir  Malcolm  stared  at  him 
in  silence  and  then  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"Good  egg,  sir!"  said  he.     "Good  egg!    If  I 


236  SIMON 

had  not  finished  my  sloe  gin  I  should  drink  to 
your  health !" 

It  was  Carrington's  turn  to  look  disconcerted. 
Recovering  himself  he  said  with  a  smile : 

"You  shall  have  another  glass  of  sloe  gin  when 
you  have  grasped  the  situation.  I  assure  you  I 
am  actually  a  detective — or,  rather,  a  private  en- 
quiry agent." 

Sir  Malcolm  shook  a  knowing  head. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  he,  "you  can't  really 
pull  my  leg  like  that.  I  can  see  perfectly  well  you 
are  a  gentleman." 

"I  appreciate  the  compliment,"  said  Carring- 
ton,  "but  just  let  me  tell  you  what  was  in  the  tele- 
gram which  has  brought  you  here.  It  ran — 'Come 
immediately  urgent  news  don't  answer  please 
don't  delay.  Cicely  Farmond.' ' 

Sir  Malcolm's  mouth  fell  open. 

"How — how  do  you  know  that?"  he  asked. 

"Because  I  wrote  it  myself.  Miss  Farmond  is 
quite  unaware  it  was  sent." 

The  baronet  began  to  look  indignant. 

"But — er — why  the  devil,  sir— 

"Because  I  am  a  detective,"  interrupted  Car- 
rington,  "and  I  wished  to  see  you." 

Sir  Malcolm  evidently  began  to  grasp  the  sit- 
uation at  last. 

"What  about?"  he  asked,  and  his  face  was  a 
little  paler  already. 

"About  this  murder.  I  wanted  to  satisfy  my- 
self that  you  were — or  were  not — innocent." 

"But— er— how?" 


A  MARKED  MAN  237 

"By  your  actions,  conversation,  and  appear- 
ance. I  am  now  satisfied,  Sir  Malcolm." 

"That  I  am  innocent." 

"Yes." 

"Then  will  this  be  the  end  of  my — er — painful 
position?" 

"So  far  as  your  own  anxiety  goes;  yes.  You 
need  no  longer  fear  arrest." 

The  first  look  of  relief  which  had  rushed  to  the 
young  man's  face  became  clouded  with  a  sugges- 
tion of  chagrin. 

"But  won't  people  then — er — talk  about  me 
any  longer?" 

"I  am  afraid  I  can't  prevent  that — for  a  little 
longer." 

The  last  of  the  baronet's  worries  seemed  to  dis- 
appear. 

"Ah!"  he  said  complacently.  "Well,  let  them 
talk  about  me!" 

Carrington  rose  and  rang  the  bell. 

"You  deserve  a  third  sloe  gin!"  said  he. 

While  the  third  sloe  gin  was  being  brought,  he 
very  deliberately  and  very  thoughtfully  selected 
and  lit  a  cigarette,  and  then  he  said : 

"You  tell  me  specifically  that  Mr.  Rattar  was 
the  first  person  to  inform  you  that  suspicion  was 
directed  against  you,  and  that  he  advised  you  to 
keep  away,  and  for  choice  to  go  abroad.  There 
is  no  doubt  about  that,  is  there?" 

"Well,"  said  Sir  Malcolm,  "he  didn't  specifi- 
cally advise  me  to  go  abroad,  but  certainly  his 
letter  seemed  to  suggest  it." 


SIMON 

"All!"  said  Carrington  and  gazed  into  space 
for  a  moment. 

"I  am  now  going  to  take  the  liberty  of  suggest- 
ing your  best  course  of  action,"  he  resumed.  "In 
the  first  place,  there  is  no  object  in  your  going 
out  to  Keldale  House,  so  I  think  you  had  better 
not.  In  the  second  place,  you  had  better  call  on 
Mr.  Rattar  first  thing  to-morrow  and  consult  him 
about  any  point  of  business  that  strikes  you  as  a 
sufficient  reason  for  coming  so  far  to  see  him.  I 
may  tell  you  that  he  has  given  you  extremely 
bad  advice,  so  you  can  be  as  offhand  and  brief 
with  him  as  you  like.  Get  out  of  his  office,  in 
fact,  as  quick  as  you  can." 

"That's  what  I  always  want  to  do,"  said  the 
baronet.  "I  can't  stick  the  old  fellow  at  any  price." 

"If  he  asks  you  whether  you  have  seen  me,  say 
you  have  just  seen  me  but  didn't  fancy  me,  and 
don't  give  him  the  least  idea  of  what  we  talked 
about.  You  can  add  that  you  left  the  Kings 
Arms  because  you  didn't  care  for  my  company." 

"But  am  I  to  leave  it?"  exclaimed  the  young 
man. 

Carrington  nodded. 

"It's  better  that  we  shouldn't  stay  in  the  same 
hotel.  It  will  support  your  account  of  me.  And 
finally,  get  back  to  London  by  the  first  train  after 
you  have  seen  Mr.  Rattar." 

"Then  aren't  you  working  with  old  Simon?" 
enquired  Sir  Malcolm. 

"Oh,  in  a  sense,  I  am,"  said  Carrington  care- 
lessly, "but  I  daresay  you  have  found  him  your- 


A  MARKED  MAN  239 

self  an  arbitrary,  meddlesome  old  boy,  and  I  like 
to  be  independent." 

"By  Gad,  so  do  I,"  the  baronet  agreed  cor- 
dially. "I  am  quite  with  you  about  old  Silent 
Simon.  I'll  do  just  exactly  as  you  suggest.  He 
won't  get  any  change  out  of  me !" 

"And  now,"  said  Carrington,  "get  your  bag 
taken  to  any  other  hotel  you  like.  I'll  explain 
everything  to  Miss  Peterkin." 

Sir  Malcolm  by  this  time  had  finished  his  third 
sloe  gin  and  he  said  farewell  with  extreme  affa- 
bility, while  his  friend  Mr.  Carrington  dropped 
into  the  manageress'  room  and  explained  that 
the  poor  young  man  had  seemed  so  nervous  and 
depressed  that  he  had  advised  his  departure  for 
a  quieter  lodging.  He  added  with  great  convic- 
tion that  as  a  sporting  man  he  would  lay  long 
odds  on  Sir  Malcolm's  innocence,  and  that  be- 
tween Miss  Peterkin  and  himself  he  didn't  be- 
lieve a  word  of  the  current  scandals. 

That  evening  Mr.  Carrington  joined  the  choice 
spirits  in  the  manageress'  room,  and  they  had  a 
very  long  and  entertaining  gossip.  The  conver- 
sation turned  this  time  chiefly  on  the  subject  of 
Mr.  Simon  Rattar,  and  if  by  the  end  of  it  the 
agreeable  visitor  was  not  fully  acquainted  with 
the  history  of  that  local  celebrity,  of  his  erring 
partner,  and  of  his  father  before  him,  it  was  not 
the  fault  of  Miss  Peterkin  and  her  friends.  Nor 
could  it  fairly  be  said  to  be  the  visitor's  fault 
either,  for  his  questions  were  as  numerous  as  they 
were  intelligent. 


XXXI 

THE  LETTER  AGAIN 

ON  the  morning  after  Sir  Malcolm's  fleeting 
visit  to  the  Kings  Arms,  the  manageress  was  in- 
formed by  her  friend  Mr.  Carrington  that  he 
would  like  a  car  immediately  after  breakfast. 

"I  really  must  be  a  little  more  energetic,  or 
I'll  never  find  anything  to  suit  me,"  he  smiled  in 
his  most  leisurely  manner.  "I  am  thinking  of 
running  out  to  Keldale  to  have  another  look  at 
the  place.  It  might  be  worth  taking  if  they'd 
let  it." 

"But  you've  been  to  Keldale  already,  Mr.  Car- 
rington!" said  Miss  Peterkin.  "I  wonder  you 
don't  have  a  look  at  one  of  the  other  places." 

"I'm  one  of  those  fellows  who  make  up  their 
minds  slowly,"  he  explained.  "But  when  we  cau- 
tious fellows  do  make  up  our  minds,  well,  some- 
thing generally  happens !" 

Circumstances,  however,  prevented  this  enthu- 
siastic sportsman  from  making  any  further  en- 
quiry as  to  the  letting  of  the  Keldale  shootings. 
When  Bisset  appeared  at  the  front  door  conster- 
nation was  in  his  face.  It  was  veiled  under  a  re- 
strained professional  manner,  but  not  sufficiently 
to  escape  his  visitor's  eye. 

"What's  up?"  he  asked  at  once. 

240 


THE  LETTER  AGAIN  241 

Bisset  looked  for  a  moment  into  his  sympa- 
thetic face,  and  then  in  grave  whisper  said : 

"Step  in,  sir,  and  I'll  tell  ye." 

He  led  him  into  a  small  morning  room,  care- 
fully closed  the  door,  and  announced, 

"Miss  Farmond  has  gone,  sir!" 

"Gone.    When  and  how?" 

"Run  away,  sir,  on  her  bicycle  yesterday  after- 
noon and  deil  a  sign  of  her  since!" 

"Any  luggage?" 

"Just  a  wee  suit  case." 

"No  message  left,  or  anything  of  that  kind?" 

"Not  a  word  or  a  line,  sir." 

"The  devil!"  murmured  Carrington. 

"That's  just  exac'ly  it,  sir!" 

"No  known  cause?  No  difficulty  with  Lady 
Cromarty  or  anything?" 

"Nothing  that's  come  to  my  ears,  sir." 

Carrington  stared  blankly  into  space  and  re- 
mained silent  for  several  minutes.  Bisset  watched 
his  assistant  with  growing  anxiety. 

"Surely,  sir,"  he  burst  forth  at  last,  "you're 
not  thinking  this  goes  to  indicate  any  deductions 
or  datas  showing  she's  guilty?" 

"I'm  dashed  if  I  know  what  to  think,"  mur- 
mured Carrington  still  lost  in  thought. 

Suddenly  he  turned  his  eyeglass  on  the  other. 

"By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed,  "the  day  before  yes- 
terday I  passed  that  girl  riding  on  a  bicycle 
towards  Keldale  House  after  dark!  Do  you 
know  where  she  had  been?" 

"Into  the  town,  sir.    I  knew  she  was  out,  of 


course,  and  she  just  mentioned  afterwards  where 
she  had  been." 

"Have  you  any  idea  whom  she  saw  or  what  she 
did?" 

Bisset  shook  his  head. 

"I  have  no  datas,  sir,  that's  the  plain  fac'." 

"But  you  can't  think  of  any  likely  errand  to 
take  her  in  so  late  in  the  afternoon?" 

"No,  sir.  In  fact,  I  mind  thinking  it  was  funny 
like  her  riding  about  alone  in  the  dark  like  yon, 
for  she's  feared  of  being  out  by  hersel'  in  the 
dark;  I  know  that." 

Carrington  reflected  for  a  few  moments  longer 
and  then  seemed  to  dismiss  the  subject. 

"By  the  way,"  he  asked,  "can  you  remember 
if,  by  any  chance,  Sir  Reginald  had  any  difficulty 
or  trouble  or  row  of  any  kind  with  anyone  what- 
ever during,  say,  the  month  previous  to  his  death  ? 
I  mean  with  any  of  the  tenants,  or  his  tradesmen 
— or  his  lawyer?  Take  your  time  and  think  care- 
fully." 

•  •  •  •  • 

Carrington  dismissed  his  car  at  Mr.  Rattar's 
office.  When  he  was  shown  into  the  lawyer's 
room,  he  exhibited  a  greater  air  of  keenness  than 
usual. 

"Well,  Mr.  Rattar,"  said  he,  "you'll  be  inter- 
ested to  hear  that  I've  got  rather  a  new  point  of 
view  with  regard  to  this  case." 

"Indeed?"  said  Simon,  and  his  lips  twitched 
a  little  as  he  spoke.  There  was  no  doubt  that  he 
was  not  looking  so  well  as  usual.  His  face  had 


THE  LETTER  AGAIN 

seemed  drawn  and  worried  last  time  Carrington 
had  seen  him;  now  it  might  almost  be  termed 
haggard. 

"I  find,"  continued  Carrington,  "that  Sir  Reg- 
inald displayed  a  curious  and  unaccountable  irri- 
tability before  his  death.  I  hear,  for  instance, 
that  a  letter  from  you  had  upset  him  quite  un- 
duly." 

Carrington  paused  for  an  instant,  and  his  mon- 
ocle was  full  on  Simon  all  the  time,  and  yet  he  did 
not  seem  to  notice  the  very  slight  but  distinct 
start  which  the  lawyer  gave,  for  he  continued  with 
exactly  the  same  confidential  air. 

"These  seem  to  me  very  suggestive  symptoms, 
Mr.  Rattar,  and  I  am  wondering  very  seriously 
whether  the  true  solution  of  his  mysterious  death 
is  not—  "  he  paused  for  an  instant  and  then  in  a 
low  and  earnest  voice  said,  "suicide !" 

There  was  no  mistake  about  the  lawyer's  start 
this  time,  or  about  the  curious  fact  that  the  strain 
seemed  suddenly  to  relax,  and  a  look  of  relief  to 
take  its  place.  And  yet  Carrington  seemed  quite 
oblivious  to  anything  beyond  his  own  striking 
new  theory. 

"That's  rather  a  suggestive  idea,  isn't  it?"  said 
he. 

"Very!"  replied  Simon  with  the  air  of  one  lis- 
tening to  a  revelation. 

"How  he  managed  to  inflict  precisely  those  in- 
juries on  himself  is  at  present  a  little  obscure," 
continued  Carrington,  "but  no  doubt  a  really  ex- 
pert medical  opinion  will  be  able  to  suggest  an 


244  SIMON 

explanation.  The  theory  fits  all  the  other  facts 
remarkably,  doesn't  it?" 

"Remarkably,"  agreed  Simon. 

"This  letter  of  yours,  for  instance,  was  a  very 
ordinary  business  communication,  I  understand." 

"Very  ordinary,"  said  Simon. 

"Of  course,  you  have  a  copy  of  it  in  your  letter 
book — and  also  Sir  Reginald's  reply?" 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  and  then  Simon's 
grunt  seemed  to  be  forced  out  of  himself.  But 
he  followed  the  grunt  with  a  more  assured,  "Cer- 
tainly." 

"May  I  see  them?" 

"You — you  think  they  are  important?" 

"As  bearing  on  Sir  Reginald's  state  of  mind 
only." 

Simon  rang  his  bell  and  ordered  the  letter  book 
to  be  brought  in.  While  Carrington  was  exam- 
ining it,  his  eyes  never  left  his  visitor's  face,  but 
they  would  have  had  to  be  singularly  penetrating 
to  discover  a  trace  of  any  emotion  there. 
Throughout  his  inspection,  Carrington's  air  re- 
mained as  imperturbable  as  though  he  were  read- 
ing the  morning  paper. 

"According  to  these  letters,"  he  observed, 
"there  seems  to  have  been  a  trifling  but  rather 
curious  misunderstanding.  In  accordance  with 
written  instructions  of  a  fortnight  previously,  you 
had  arranged  to  let  a  certain  farm  to  a  certain 
man,  and  Sir  Reginald  then  complained  that  you 
had  overlooked  a  conversation  between  those 
dates  in  which  he  had  cancelled  these  instructions. 


THE  LETTER  AGAIN  245 

He  writes  with  a  warmth  that  clearly  indicates 
his  own  impression  that  this  conversation  had 
been  perfectly  explicit  and  that  your  forgetful- 
ness  or  neglect  of  it  was  unaccountable,  and  he 
proposes  to  go  into  this  and  one  or  two  other  mat- 
ters in  the  course  of  a  conversation  with  you  which 
should  have  taken  place  that  afternoon.  You 
then  reply  that  you  are  too  busy  to  come  out  so 
soon,  but  will  call  on  the  following  morning.  In 
the  meantime  Sir  Reginald  is  murdered,  and  so 
the  conversation  never  takes  place  and  no  explan- 
ation passes  between  you.  Those  are  the  facts, 
aren't  they?" 

He  looked  up  from  the  letter  book  as  he  spoke 
and  there  was  no  doubt  he  noticed  something  now. 
Indeed,  the  haggard  look  on  Simon's  face  and  a 
bead  of  perspiration  on  his  forehead  were  so 
striking,  and  so  singular  in  the  case  of  such  a 
tough  customer,  that  the  least  observant — or  the 
most  circumspect — must  have  stared.  Carring- 
ton's  stare  lasted  only  for  the  fraction  of  a  second, 
and  then  he  was  polishing  his  eyeglass  with  his 
handkerchief  in  the  most  indifferent  way. 

A  second  or  two  passed  before  Simon  an- 
swered, and  then  he  said  abruptly : 

"Sir  Reginald  was  mistaken.  No  such  conver- 
sation." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  literally  that  Tip  such 
conversation  took  place?  Was  it  a  mere  delu- 
sion?" 

"Er — practically.    Yes,  a  delusion." 

"Suicide!"  declared  Carrington  with  an  air  of 


246  SIMON 

profound  conviction.  "Yes,  Mr.  Rattar,  that  is 
evidently  the  solution.  The  unfortunate  man  had 
clearly  not  been  himself,  probably  for  some  little 
time  previously.  Well,  I'll  make  a  few  more  en- 
quiries, but  I  fancy  my  work  is  nearly  at  an  end. 
Good-morning." 

He  rose  and  was  half  way  across  the  room, 
when  he  stopped  and  asked,  as  if  the  idea  had 
suddenly  occurred  to  him: 

"By  the  way,  I  hear  that  Miss  Farmond  was 
in  seeing  you  a  couple  of  days  ago." 

Again  Simon  seemed  to  start  a  little,  and  again 
he  hesitated  for  an  instant  and  then  replied  with 
a  grunt. 

"Had  she  any  news?"  asked  the  other. 

Simon  grunted  again  and  shook  his  head,  and 
Carrington  threw  him  a  friendly  nod  and  went 
out. 

He  maintained  the  same  air  till  he  had  turned 
down  a  bye  street  and  was  alone,  and  only  then  he 
gave  vent  to  his  feelings. 

"I'm  dashed!"  he  muttered,  "absolutely  jig- 
gered 1" 

All  the  while  he  shook  his  head  and  slashed  with 
his  walking  stick  through  the  air.  There  was  no 
doubt  that  Mr.  Carrington  was  thoroughly  and 
genuinely  puzzled. 


XXXII 

THE  SYMPATHETIC  STRANGER 

CARRINGTON'S  soliloquy  was  interrupted  by  the 
appearance  of  someone  on  the  pavement  ahead 
of  him.  He  pulled  himself  together,  took  out 
his  watch,  and  saw  that  it  was  still  only  twenty 
minutes  past  twelve.  After  thinking  for  a  mo- 
ment, he  murmured : 

"I  might  as  well  try  'em!" 

And  thereupon  he  set  out  at  a  brisk  walk,  and  a 
few  minutes  later  was  closeted  with  Superintend- 
ent Sutherland  in  the  Police  Station.  He  began 
by  handing  the  Superintendent  a  card  with  the 
name  of  Mr.  F.  T.  Carrington  on  it,  but  with 
quite  a  different  address  from  that  on  the  card  he 
had  sent  up  to  Mr.  Rattar.  It  was,  in  fact,  his 
business  card,  and  the  Superintendent  regarded 
him  with  respectful  interest. 

After  explaining  his  business  and  his  prefer- 
ence for  not  disclosing  it  to  the  public,  he  went 
briefly  over  the  main  facts  of  the  case. 

"I  see  you've  got  them  all,  sir,"  said  the  Super- 
intendent, when  he  had  finished.  "There  really 
seems  nothing  to  add  and  no  new  light  to  be  seen 
anywhere." 

"I'm  afraid  so,"  agreed  Carrington.  '"I'm 
afraid  so." 

247 


248  SIMON 

In  fact  he  seemed  so  entirely  resigned  to  this 
conclusion  that  he  allowed,  and  even  encouraged, 
the  conversation  to  turn  to  other  matters.  The 
activity  and  enterprise  of  the  Procurator  Fiscal 
seemed  to  have  particularly  impressed  him,  and 
this  led  to  a  long  talk  on  the  subject  of  Mr.  Simon 
Rattar.  The  Superintendent  was  also  a  great 
admirer  of  the  Fiscal  and  assured  Mr.  Carring- 
ton  that  not  only  was  Mr.  Simon  himself  the  most 
capable  and  upright  of  men,  but  that  the  firm  of 
Rattar  had  always  conducted  its  business  in  a 
manner  that  was  above  reproach.  Mr.  Carring- 
ton  had  made  one  or  two  slightly  cynical  but  per- 
fectly good-natured  comments  on  lawyers  in  gen- 
eral, but  he  got  no  countenance  from  the  Super- 
intendent so  far  as  Mr.  Rattar  and  his  business 
were  concerned. 

"But  hadn't  he  some  trouble  at  one  time  with 
his  brother?"  his  visitor  enquired. 

The  Superintendent  admitted  that  this  was  so, 
and  also  that  Sir  Reginald  Cromarty  had  suf- 
fered thereby,  but  he  was  quite  positive  that  this 
trouble  was  entirely  a  thing  of  the  past.  There 
was  no  doubt  that  this  information  had  a  some- 
what depressing  effect  even  on  the  good- 
humoured  Mr.  Carrington,  and  at  last  he  con- 
fessed with  a  candid  air : 

"The  fact  is,  Superintendent,  that  I  have  a 
theory  Sir  Reginald  was  worrying  about  some- 
thing before  his  death,  and  as  all  his  business 
affairs  are  conducted  by  Mr.  Rattar,  I  was  won- 
dering whether  he  had  any  difficulties  in  that  di- 


THE  SYMPATHETIC  STRANGER        249 

rection.  Now  about  this  bad  brother  of  Mr.  Rat- 
tar's — there  couldn't  be  trouble  still  outstanding, 
you  think?" 

"Mr.  George  Rattar  was  out  of  the  firm,  sir, 
years  ago,"  the  Superintendent  assured  him. 
"No,  it  couldna  be  that." 

"And  Mr.  George  Rattar  certainly  died  a  short 
time  ago,  did  he?" 

"I  can  show  you  the  paper  with  his  death  in  it. 
I  kept  it  as  a  kind  of  record  of  the  end  of  him." 

He  fetched  the  paper  and  Carrington  after 
looking  at  it  for  a  few  minutes,  remarked : 

"I  see  here  an  advertisement  stating  that  Mr. 
Rattar  lost  a  ring." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Superintendent,  "that  was  a 
funny  thing  because  it's  not  often  a  gentleman 
loses  a  ring  off  his  hand.  I've  half  wondered 
since  whether  it  was  connected  with  a  story  of 
Mr.  Rattar's  maid  that  his  house  had  been  broken 
into." 

"When  was  that?" 

"Curiously  enough  it  was  the  very  night  Sir 
Reginald  was  murdered." 

Carrington's  chair  squeaked  on  the  floor  as  he 
sat  up  sharply. 

"The  very  night  of  the  murder?"  he  repeated. 
"Why  has  this  never  come  out  before?" 

The  stolid  Superintendent  looked  at  him  in 
surprise. 

"But  what  connection  could  there  possibly  be, 
sir?  Mr.  Rattar  thought  nothing  of  it  himself 
and  just  mentioned  it  so  that  I  would  know  it  was 


250  SIMON 

a  mere  story,  in  case  his  servants  started  talking 
about  it." 

"But  you  yourself  seemed  just  now  to  think 
that  it  might  not  be  a  mere  story." 

"Oh,  that  was  just  a  kind  o'  idea,"  said  the 
Superintendent  easily.  "It  only  came  in  my  mind 
when  the  ring  was  never  recovered." 

"What  were  the  exact  facts?"  demanded  Car- 
rington. 

"Oh,"  said  the  Superintendent  vaguely,  "there 
was  something  about  a  window  looking  as  if  it 
had  been  entered,  but  really,  sir,  Mr.  Rattar  paid 
so  little  attention  to  it  himself,  and  we  were  that 
taken  up  by  the  Keldale  case  that  I  made  no  spe- 
cial note  of  it." 

"Did  the  servants  ever  speak  of  it  again?" 

"Everybody  was  that  taken  up  about  the  mur- 
der that  I  doubt  if  they've  minded  on  it  any  fur- 
ther." 

Carrington  was  silent  for  a  few  moments. 

"Are  the  servants  intelligent  girls?"  he  en- 
quired. 

"Oh,  quite  average  intelligent.  In  fact,  the 
housemaid  is  a  particular  decent  sort  of  a  girl." 

At  this  point,  Mr.  Carrington's  interest  in  the 
subject  seemed  to  wane,  and  after  a  few  pleasant 
generalities,  he  thanked  the  Superintendent  for 
his  courtesy,  and  strolled  down  to  the  hotel  for 
lunch.  This  time  his  air  as  he  walked  was  notice- 
ably brisker  and  his  eye  decidedly  brighter. 

About  three  o'clock  that  afternoon  came  a  ring 
at  the  front  door  bell  of  Mr.  Simon  Rattar 's 


THE  SYMPATHETIC  STRANGER        251 

commodious  villa.  Mary  MacLean  declared 
afterwards  that  she  had  a  presentiment  when  she 
heard  it,  but  then  the  poor  girl  had  been  rather 
troubled  with  presentiments  lately.  When  she 
opened  the  front  door  she  saw  a  particularly 
polite  and  agreeable  looking  gentleman  adorned 
with  that  unmistakeable  mark  of  fashion,  a  single 
eyeglass ;  and  the  gentleman  saw  a  pleasant  look- 
ing but  evidently  high  strung  and  nervous  young 
woman. 

"Is  Mr.  Simon  Rattar  at  home?"  he  enquired 
in  a  courteous  voice  and  with  a  soothing  smile 
that  won  her  heart  at  once ;  and  on  hearing  that 
Mr.  Rattar  always  spent  the  afternoons  at  his 
office  and  would  not  return  before  five  o'clock, 
his  disappointment  was  so  manifest  that  she  felt 
sincerely  sorry  for  him. 

He  hesitated  and  was  about  to  go  away  when 
a  happy  idea  struck  him. 

"Might  I  come  in  and  write  a  line  to  be  left 
for  him?"  he  asked,  and  Mary  felt  greatly  re- 
lieved at  being  able  to  assist  the  gentleman  to 
assuage  his  disappointment  in  this  way. 

She  led  him  into  the  library  and  somehow  or 
other  by  the  time  she  had  got  him  ink  and  paper 
and  pen  she  found  herself  talking  to  this  distin- 
guished looking  stranger  in  the  most  friendly 
way.  It  was  not  that  he  was  forward  or  gallant, 
far  from  it ;  simply  that  he  was  so  nice  and  so  re- 
markably sympathetic.  Within  five  minutes  of 
making  his  acquaintance,  Mary  felt  that  she  could 
tell  him  almost  anything. 


252  SIMON 

This  sympathetic  visitor  made  several  appre- 
ciative remarks  about  the  house  and  garden,  and 
then,  just  as  he  had  dipped  his  pen  into  the  ink, 
he  remarked : 

"Rather  a  tempting  house  for  burglars,  I 
should  think — if  such  people  existed  in  these 
peaceable  parts." 

"Oh,  but  they  do,  sir,"  she  assured  him.  "We 
had  one  in  this  very  house  one  night  1" 


XXXIII 

THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERIES 

THE  sympathetic  stranger  almost  laid  down 
his  pen,  he  was  so  interested  by  this  unexpected 
reply. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed.  "Really  a  burglary  in 
this  house?  I  say,  how  awfully  interesting! 
When  did  it  happen?" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mary  in  an  impressive  voice, 
"it's  a  most  extraordinary  thing,  but  it  was  actu- 
ally the  very  self  same  night  of  Sir  Reginald's 
murder!" 

So  surprised  and  interested  was  the  visitor 
that  he  actually  did  lay  down  his  pen  this  time. 

"Was  it  the  same  man,  do  you  think?"  he  asked 
in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  thrill  with  sympathetic 
excitement. 

"Indeed  I've  sometimes  wondered!"  said  she. 

"Tell  me  how  it  happened!" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mary,  "it  was  on  the  very 
morning  that  we  heard  about  Sir  Reginald — only 
before  we'd  heard,  and  I  was  pulling  up  the 
blinds  in  the  wee  sitting  room  when  I  says  to  my- 
self. 'There's  been  some  one  in  at  this  window!' ' 

"The  wee  sitting  room,"  repeated  her  visitor. 
"Which  is  that?" 

He  seemed  so  genuinely  interested  that  before 

253 


254  SIMON 

she  realised  what  liberties  she  was  taking  in  the 
master's  house,  she  had  led  him  into  a  small  sit- 
ting room  at  the  end  of  a  short  passage  leading 
out  of  the  hall.  It  had  evidently  been  intended 
for  a  smoking  room  or  study  when  the  villa  was 
built,  but  was  clearly  never  used  by  Mr.  Rattar, 
for  it  contained  little  furniture  beyond  bookcases. 
Its  window  looked  on  to  the  side  of  the  garden 
and  not  towards  the  drive,  and  a  grass  lawn  lay 
beneath  it,  while  the  room  itself  was  obviously  the 
most  isolated,  and  from  a  burglarious  point  of 
view  the  most  promising,  on  the  ground  floor. 

"This  is  the  room,  sir,"  said  Mary.  "And 
look !  You  still  can  see  the  marks  on  the  sash." 

"Yes,"  said  the  visitor  thoughtfully,  "they  seem 
to  have  been  made  by  a  tacketty  boot." 

"And  forbye  that,  there  was  a  wee  bit  mud  on 
the  floor  and  a  tacket  mark  in  that!" 

"Was  the  window  shut  or  open?" 

"Shut,  sir;  and  the  most  extraordinary  thing 
was  that  it  was  snibbed  too!  That's  what  made 
the  master  say  it  couldna  have  been  a  burglar  at 
all,  or  how  did  he  snib  the  window  after  he  went 
out  again?" 

"Then  Mr.  Rattar  didn't  believe  it  was  a  burg- 
lar?" 

"JST — no,  sir,"  said  Mary,  a  little  reluctantly. 

"Was  anything  stolen?" 

"No,  sir;  that  was  another  funny  thing.  But  it 
must  have  been  a  burglar  I" 

"What  about  the  other  windows,  and  the 
doors?  Were  they  all  fastened  in  the  morning?" 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERIES  255 

"Yes,  sir,  it's  the  truth  they  were,"  she  ad- 
mitted. 

"And  what  did  Mr.  Rattar  do  with  the  piece  of 
mud?" 

"Just  threw  it  out  of  the  window." 

The  sympathetic  stranger  crossed  to  the  win- 
dow and  looked  out. 

"Grass  underneath,  I  see,"  he  observed.  "No 
footprints  outside,  I  suppose?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Did  the  police  come  down  and  make  en- 
quiries?" 

"Well,  sir,  the  master  said  he  would  inform  the 
pollis,  but  then  came  the  news  of  the  murder, 
and  no  one  had  any  thoughts  for  anything  else 
after  that." 

The  sympathetic  visitor  stood  by  the  window 
very  thoughtfully  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
turned  and  rewarded  her  with  the  most  charming 
smile. 

"Thank  you  awfully  for  showing  me  all  this," 
said  he.  "By  the  way,  what's  your  name?"  She 
told  him  and  he  added  with  a  still  nicer  smile, 
"Thank  you,  Mary!" 

They  returned  to  the  library  and  he  sat  down 
before  the  table  again,  but  just  as  he  was  going 
to  pick  up  the  pen  a  thought  seemed  to  strike  him. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  "I  remember  hearing 
something  about  the  loss  of  a  ring.  The  burglar 
didn't  take  that,  did  he?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir,  I  remember  the  advertisement  was 
in  the  paper  before  the  night  of  the  burglary." 


256  SIMON 

He  opened  his  eyes  and  then  smiled. 

"Brilliant  police  you've  gotl"  he  murmured, 
and  took  up  the  pen  again. 

"There  was  another  burglar  here  and  he  might 
have  taken  it !"  said  Mary  in  a  low  voice. 

The  visitor  once  more  dropped  the  pen  and 
looked  up  with  a  start. 

"Another  burglar!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Well,  sir,  this  one  didn't  actually  burgle, 
but—" 

She  thought  of  the  master  if  he  chanced  to 
learn  how  she  had  been  gossiping,  and  her  sen- 
tence was  cut  short  in  the  midst. 

"Yes,  Mary!  You  were  saying?"  cooed  the 
persuasive  visitor,  and  Mary  succumbed  again 
and  told  him  of  that  night  when  a  shadow  moved 
into  the  trees  and  footprints  were  left  in  the 
gravel  outside  the  library  window,  and  the  mas- 
ter looked  so  strangely  in  the  morning.  Her 
visitor  was  so  interested  that  once  she  began  it 
was  really  impossible  to  stop. 

"How  very  strange!"  he  murmured,  and  there 
was  no  doubt  he  meant  it. 

"But  about  the  master's  ring,  sir — "  she  began. 

"You  say  he  looked  as  though  he  were  being 
watched?"  he  interrupted,  but  it  was  quite  a 
polite  and  gentle  interruption. 

"Yes,  sir;  but  the  funny  thing  about  losing  the 
ring  was  that  he  never  could  get  it  off  his  ringer 
before!  I've  seen  him  trying  to,  but  oh,  it 
wouldn't  nearly  come  off!" 

Again  he  sat  up  and  gazed  at  her. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERIES  257 

"Another  mystery!"  he  murmured.  "He  lost 
a  ring  which  wouldn't  come  off  his  finger?  By 
Jovel  That's  very  rum.  Are  there  any  more 
mysteries,  Mary,  connected  with  this  house?" 

She  hesitated  and  then  in  a  very  low  voice  an- 
swered : 

"Oh,  yes,  sir;  there  was  one  that  gave  me  even 
a  worse  turn!" 

By  this  time  her  visitor  seemed  to  have  given 
up  all  immediate  thoughts  of  writing  his  note  to 
Mr.  Rattar.  He  turned  his  back  to  the  table  and 
looked  at  her  with  benevolent  calm. 

"Let's  hear  it,  Mary,"  he  said  gently. 

And  then  she  told  him  the  story  of  that  dread- 
ful night  when  the  unknown  visitor  came  for  the 
box  of  old  papers.  He  gazed  at  her,  listening  very 
attentively,  and  then  in  a  soothing  voice  asked 
her  several  questions,  more  particularly  when  all 
these  mysterious  events  occurred. 

"And  are  these  all  your  troubles  now,  Mary?" 
he  enquired. 

He  asked  so  sympathetically  that  at  last  she 
even  ventured  to  tell  him  her  latest  trouble.  Till 
he  fairly  charmed  it  out  of  her,  she  had  shrunk 
from  telling  him  anything  that  seemed  to  reflect 
directly  on  her  master  or  to  be  a  giving  away  of 
his  concerns.  But  now  she  confessed  that  Mr. 
Rattar's  conduct,  Mr.  Rattar's  looks,  and  even 
Mr.  Rattar's  very  infrequent  words  had  been 
troubling  her  strangely.  How  or  why  his  looks 
and  words  should  trouble  her,  she  knew  not  pre- 


258  SIMON 

cisely,  and  his  conduct,  generally  speaking,  she 
admitted  was  as  regular  as  ever. 

"You  don't  mean  that  just  now  and  then  he 
takes  a  wee  drop  too  much?"  enquired  her  visitor 
helpfully. 

"Oh,  no,  sir,"  said  she,  "the  master  never  did 
take  more  than  what  a  gentleman  should,  and  he's 
not  a  smoking  gentleman  either — quite  a  prin- 
ciple against  smokers,  he  has,  sir.  Oh,  it's  noth- 
ing like  that!" 

She  looked  over  her  shoulder  fearfully  as 
though  the  walls  might  repeat  her  words  to  the 
master,  as  she  told  him  of  the  curious  and  dis- 
turbing thing.  Mr.  Rattar  had  been  till  lately 
a  gentleman  of  the  most  exact  habits,  and  then  all 
of  a  sudden  he  had  taken  to  walking  in  his  gar- 
den in  a  way  he  never  did  before.  First  she  had 
noticed  him,  about  the  time  of  the  burglary  and 
the  removal  of  the  papers,  walking  there  in  the 
mornings.  That  perhaps  was  not  so  very  dis- 
turbing, but  since  then  he  had  changed  this  for 
a  habit  of  slipping  out  of  the  house  every  night— 
every  single  night! 

"And  walking  in  the  garden!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Carrington. 

"Sometimes  I've  heard  his  footsteps  on  the 
gravel,  sir!  Even  when  it  has  been  raining  I've 
heard  them.  Perhaps  sometimes  he  goes  out- 
side the  garden,  but  I've  never  heard  of  anyone 
meeting  him  on  the  road  or  streets.  It's  in  the 
garden  I've  heard  the  master's  steps,  sir,  and  if 
you  had  been  with  him  as  long  as  I've  been,  arid 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERIES  269 

knew  how  regular  his  habits  was,  you'd  know  how 
I'm  feeling,  sir!" 

"I  do  know,  Mary;  I  quite  understand,"  Mr. 
Carrington  assured  her  in  his  soothing  voice,  and 
there  could  be  no  doubt  he  was  wondering  just  as 
hard  as  she. 

"What  o'clock  does  he  generally  go  out?"  he 
asked. 

"At  nine  o'clock  almost  exactly  every  night, 
sir!" 

Mr.  Carrington  looked  thoughtfully  out  of  the 
window  into  the  garden,  and  then  at  last  looked 
down  at  the  ink  and  paper  and  pen.  Not  a  word 
was  written  on  the  paper  yet. 

"Look  here,  Mary,"  he  said  very  confiden- 
tially. "I  am  a  friend  of  Mr.  Rattar's  and  I  am 
sure  you  would  like  me  to  try  and  throw  a  little 
light  on  this.  Perhaps  something  is  troubling 
him  and  I  could  help  you  to  clear  it  up." 

"Oh,  sir,"  she  cried,  "you  are  very  kind!  I 
wish  you  could!" 

"Perhaps  the  best  thing  then,"  he  suggested, 
"would  be  for  me  not  to  leave  a  note  for  him  after 
all,  and  for  you  not  even  to  mention  that  I  have 
called.  As  he  knows  me  pretty  well  he  would  be 
almost  sure  to  ask  you  whether  I  had  come  in 
and  if  I  had  left  any  message  and  so  on,  and  then 
he  might  perhaps  find  out  that  we  had  been  talk- 
ing, and  that  wouldn't  perhaps  be  pleasant  for 
you,  would  it?" 

"Oh,  my!  No,  indeed,  it  wouldn't!"  she 
agreed.  "I'm  that  feared  of  the  master,  sir,  I'd 


260  SIMON 

never  have  him  know  I  had  been  talking  about 
him,  or  about  anything  that  has  happened  in  this 
house  I" 

So,  having  come  to  this  judicious  decision,  Mr. 
Carrington  wished  Mary  the  kindest  of  farewells 
and  walked  down  the  drive  again.  There  could 
be  no  question  he  had  plenty  to  think  about  now, 
though  to  judge  from  his  expression,  it  seemed 
doubtful  whether  his  thoughts  were  very  clear. 


XXXIV 

A1    CONFIDENTIAL    CONVERSATION 

THE  laird  of  Stanesland  strode  into  the  Kings 
Arms  and  demanded : 

"Mr.  Carrington?  What,  having  a  cup  of  tea 
in  his  room?  What's  his  number?  27 — right! 
I'll  walk  right  up,  thanks." 

He  walked  right  up,  made  the  door  rattle  un- 
der his  knuckles  and  strode  jauntily  in.  There 
was  no  beating  about  the  bush  with  Mr.  Cro- 
marty  either  in  deed  or  word. 

"Well,  Mr.  Carrington,"  said  he,  "don't 
trouble  to  look  surprised.  I  guess  you've  seen 
right  through  me  for  some  time  back." 

"Meaning — ?"  asked  Carrington  with  his  en- 
gaging smile. 

"Meaning  that  I'm  the  unknown,  unsuspected, 
and  mysterious  person  who's  putting  up  the 
purse.  Don't  pretend  you  haven't  tumbled  to 
that!" 

"Yes,"  admitted  Carrington,  "I  have  tum- 
bled." 

"I  knew  my  sister  had  given  the  whole  blamed 
show  away!  I  take  it  you  put  your  magnifying 
glass  back  in  your  pocket  after  your  trip  out  to 
Stanesland?" 

"More  or  less,"  admitted  Carrington. 

"Well,"  said  Ned,  "that  being  so,  I  may  as  well 

261 


SIMON 

tell  you  what  my  idea  was.  It  mayn't  have  been 
very  bright;  still  there  was  a  kind  of  method  in 
my  madness.  You  see  I  wanted  you  to  have  an 
absolutely  clear  field  and  let  you  suspect  me  just 
as  much  as  anybody  else." 

"In  short,"  smiled  Carrington,  "y°u  wanted  to 
start  with  the  other  horses  and  not  just  drop 
the  flag." 

"That's  so,"  agreed  Ned.  "But  when  my  sister 
let  out  about  that  .£1200,  and  I  saw  that  you  must 
have  spotted  me,  there  didn't  seem  much  point 
in  keeping  up  the  bluff,  when  I  came  to  think  it 
over.  And  since  then,  Mr.  Carrington,  some- 
thing has  happened  that  you  ought  to  know  and  I 
decided  to  come  and  see  you  and  talk  to  you 
straight." 

"What  has  happened?" 

Ned  smiled  for  an  instant  his  approval  of  this 
prompt  plunge  into  business,  and  then  his  face 
set  hard. 

"It's  a  most  extraordinary  thing,"  said  he, 
"and  may  strike  you  as  hardly  credible,  but  here's 
the  plain  truth  put  shortly.  Yesterday  afternoon 
Miss  Farmond  ran  away."  Carrington  merely 
nodded,  and  he  exclaimed,  "What!  You  know 
then?" 

"I  learned  from  Bisset  this  morning." 

"Ah,  I  see.  Did  you  know  I'd  happened  to  see 
her  start  and  gone  after  her  and  brought  her 
back?" 

Carrington's  interest  was  manifest. 

"No,"  said  he,  "that's  quite  news  to  me." 


A  CONFIDENTIAL  CONVERSATION      263 

"Well,  I  did,  and  I  learnt  the  whole  story  from 
her.  You  can't  guess  who  advised  her  to  bolt?" 

"I  think  I  can,"  said  Carrington  quietly. 

"Either  you're  on  the  wrong  track,  or  you've 
cut  some  ice,  Mr.  Carrington.  It  was  Simon 
Rattar!" 

"I  thought  so." 

"How  the  devil  did  you  guess?" 

"Tell  me  Miss  Farmond's  story  first  and  I'll 
tell  you  how  I  guessed." 

"Well,  she  spotted  you  were  a  detective — " 

Carrington  started  and  then  laughed. 

"Confound  these  women!"  said  he.  "They're 
so  infernally  independent  of  reason,  they  always 
spot  things  they  shouldn't!" 

"Then  she  discovered  she  was  suspected  and  so 
she  got  in  a  stew,  poor  girl,  and  went  to  see  Rat- 
tar.  Do  you  know  what  he  told  her?  That  I  was 
employing  you  and  meant  to  convict  Sir  Mal- 
colm and  her  and  hang  them  with  my  own  hands !" 

"The  old  devil!"  cried  Carrington.  "Well,  no 
wonder  she  bolted,  Mr.  Cromarty!" 

"But  even  that  was  done  by  Simon's  advice. 
He  actually  gave  her  an  address  in  London  to  go 
to." 

"Pretty  thorough!"  murmured  Carrington. 

"Now  what  do  you  make  of  that?  And  what 
ought  one  to  do?  And,  by  the  way,  how  did 
you  guess  Simon  was  at  the  bottom  of  it?" 

Carrington  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  thought 
for  a  moment  before  answering. 

"We  are  in  pretty  deep  waters,  Mr.   Cro- 


264  SIMON 

marty,"  he  said  slowly.  "As  to  what  I  make  of  it 
— nothing  as  yet.  As  to  what  we  are  to  do — also 
nothing  in  the  meantime.  But  as  to  how  I 
guessed,  well  I  can  tell  you  this  much.  I  had  to 
get  information  from  someone,  and  so  I  called 
on  Mr.  Rattar  and  told  him  who  I  was — in  strict 
confidence,  by  the  way,  so  that  he  had  no  business 
to  tell  Miss  Farmond  or  anybody  else.  I  had 
started  off,  I  may  say,  with  a  wrong  guess:  I 
thought  Rattar  himself  was  probably  either  my 
employer  or  acting  for  my  employer,  and  when 
I  suggested  this  he  told  me  I  was  right." 

"What!"  shouted  Ned.  "The  grunting  old 
devil  told  you  that?"  He  stared  at  the  other  for 
a  moment,  and  then  demanded,  "Why  did  he  tell 
you  that  lie?" 

"Fortune  played  my  cards  for  me.  Quite  in- 
nocently and  unintentionally.  I  tempted  him.  I 
said  if  I  could  be  sure  he  was  my  employer  I'd 
keep  him  in  touch  with  everything  I  was  doing. 
I  had  also  let  him  know  that  my  employer  had 
made  it  an  absolute  condition  that  his  name  was 
not  to  appear.  He  evidently  wanted  badly  to 
know  what  I  was  doing,  and  thought  he  was  safe 
not  to  be  given  away." 

"Then  have  you  kept  him  in  touch  with  every- 
thing you  have  done?" 

Carrington  smiled. 

"I  tell  you,  Mr.  Cromarty,  my  cards  were  being 
played  for  me.  Five  minutes  later  I  asked  him 
who  benefited  by  the  will  and  I  learned  that  you 
had  scored  the  precise  sum  of  £1200." 


A  CONFIDENTIAL  CONVERSATION      265 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that  when  I  made  my  limit 
£1200!"  exclaimed  Ned.  "Lord,  you  must  have 
bowled  me  out  at  once!  Of  course,  you  spotted 
the  coincidence  straight  off?" 

"But  Rattar  didn't  1  I  pushed  it  under  his  nose 
and  he  didn't  see  it!  Inside  of  one  second  I'd 
asked  myself  whether  it  was  possible  for  an  astute 
man  like  that  not  to  notice  such  a  coincidence 
supposing  he  had  really  guaranteed  me  exactly 
that  sum — an  extraordinarily  large  and  curious 
sum  too." 

"I  like  these  simple  riddles,"  said  Ned  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  single  eye.  "I  guess  your  answer 
to  yourself  was  'No!' ' 

Carrington  nodded. 

"That's  what  I  call  having  my  cards  played  for 
me.  I  knew  then  that  the  man  was  lying;  so  I 
threw  him  oil  the  scent,  changed  the  subject,  and 
did  not  keep  Mr.  Simon  Rattar  in  touch  with  any 
single  thing  I  did  after  that." 

"Good  for  you!"  said  Ned. 

"Good  so  far,  but  the  next  riddle  wasn't  of 
the  simple  kind — or  else  I'm  even  a  bigger  ass 
than  I  endeavour  to  look!  What  was  the  man's 
game?" 

"Have  you  spotted  it  yet?" 

Carrington  shook  his  head. 

"Mr.  Simon  Rattar's  game  is  the  toughest 
proposition  in  the  way  of  puzzles  I've  ever  struck. 
While  I'm  at  it  I'll  just  tell  you  one  or  two  other 
small  features  of  that  first  interview." 

He  lit  a  cigarette  and  leant  over  the  arm  of  his 


266  SIMON 

chair  towards  his  visitor,  his  manner  growing 
keener  as  he  talked. 

"I  happened  to  have  met  Miss  Farmond  that 
morning  and  my  interview  had  knocked  the  bot- 
tom out  of  the  story  that  she  was  concerned  in  the 
crime.  I  had  satisfied  myself  also  that  she  was 
not  engaged  to  Sir  Malcolm." 

"How  did  you  discover  that?"  exclaimed  Ned. 

"Her  manner  when  I  mentioned  him.  But  I 
found  that  old  Rattar  was  wrong  on  both  these 
points  and  apparently  determined  to  remain 
wrong.  Of  course,  it  might  have  been  a  mere 
error  of  judgment,  but  at  the  same  time  he  had 
no  evidence  whatever  against  her,  and  it  seemed 
to  suggest  a  curious  bias.  And  finally,  I  didn't 
like  the  look  of  the  man." 

"And  then  you  came  out  to  see  me?" 

"I  went  out  to  Keldale  House  first  and  then 
out  to  you.  I  next  interviewed  Sir  Malcolm." 

'Interviewed  Malcolm  Cromarty!"  exclaimed 
Ned.  "Where?" 

"He  came  up  to  see  me,"  explained  Carring- 
ton  easily,  "and  the  gentleman  had  scarcely  spo- 
ken six  sentences  before  I  shared  your  opinion  of 
him,  Mr.  Cromarty — a  squirt  but  not  homicidal. 
He  gave  me,  however,  one  very  interesting  piece 
of  information.  Rattar  had  advised  him  to  keep 
away  from  these  parts,  and  for  choice  to  go 
abroad.  I  need  hardly  ask  whether  you  consider 
that  sound  advice  to  give  a  suspected  man." 

"Seems  to  me  nearly  as  rotten  advice  as  he 
gave  Miss  Farmond." 


A  CONFIDENTIAL  CONVERSATION      267 

"Exactly.  So  when  I  heard  that  Miss  Far- 
mond  had  flown  and  discovered  she  had  paid  a 
visit  to  Mr.  Rattar  the  previous  day,  I  guessed 
who  had  given  her  the  advice." 

Carrington  sat  back  in  his  chair  with  folded 
arms  and  looked  at  his  employer  with  a  slight 
smile,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Tell  me  the  rest  of  the 
story!"  Cromarty  returned  his  gaze  in  silence, 
his  heaviest  frown  upon  his  brow. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Ned  at  last,  "that  Simon 
Rattar  is  mixed  up  in  this  business — sure!  He 
has  something  to  hide  and  he's  trying  to  put 
people  off  the  scent,  I'll  lay  my  bottom  dollar!" 

"What  is  he  hiding?"  enquired  Carrington, 
looking  up  at  the  ceiling. 

"What  do  you  think?" 

Carrington  shook  his  head,  his  eyes  still  gaz- 
ing dreamily  upwards. 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  I  knew  what  to  think!"  he 
murmured ;  and  then  he  resumed  a  brisker  air  and 
continued,  "I  am  ready  to  suspect  Simon  Rattar 
of  any  crime  in  the  calendar — leaving  out  petty 
larceny  and  probably  bigamy.  But  he's  the  last 
man  to  do  either  good  or  evil  unless  he  saw  a 
dividend  at  the  end,  and  where  does  he  score  by 
taking  any  part  or  parcel  in  conniving  at  or  abet- 
ting or  concealing  evidence  or  anything  else,  so 
far  as  this  particular  crime  is  concerned?  He 
has  lost  his  best  client,  with  whom  he  was  on  ex- 
cellent terms  and  whose  family  he  had  served  all 
his  life,  and  he  has  now  got  instead  an  unsatis- 
factory young  ass  whom  he  suspects,  or  says  he 


268  SIMON 

suspects,  of  murder,  and  who  so  loathes  Rattar 
that,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  he  will  probably  take 
his  business  away  from  him.  To  suspect  Rattar 
of  actually  conniving  at,  or  taking  any  part  in 
the  actual  crime  itself  is,  on  the  face  of  it,  to  con- 
vict either  Rattar  or  oneself  of  lunacy!" 

"I  knew  Sir  Reginald  pretty  well,"  said  Ned, 
"but  of  course  I  didn't  know  much  about  his  busi- 
ness affairs.  He  hadn't  been  having  any  trouble 
with  Rattar,  had  he?" 

Carrington  threw  him  a  quick,  approving 
glance. 

"We  are  thinking  on  the  same  lines,"  said  he, 
"and  I  have  unearthed  one  very  odd  little  mis- 
understanding, but  it  seems  to  have  been  nothing 
more  than  that,  and,  apart  from  it,  all  accounts 
agree  that  there  was  no  trouble  of  any  kind  or 
description." 

He  took  a  cigarette  out  of  his  case  and  struck 
a  match. 

"There  must  be  some  motive  for  everything 
one  does — even  for  smoking  this  cigarette.  If  I 
disliked  cigarettes,  knew  smoking  was  bad  for  me, 
and  stood  in  danger  of  being  fined  if  I  was  caught 
doing  it,  why  should  I  smoke  ?  I  can  see  no  point 
whatever  in  Rattar's  taking  the  smallest  share 
even  in  diverting  the  course  of  justice  by  a  hair's 
breadth.  He  and  you  and  I  have  to  all  appear- 
ances identical  interests  in  the  matter." 

"You  are  wiser  than  I  am,"  said  Ned  simply, 
but  with  a  grim  look  in  his  eye,  "but  all  I  can  say 


A  CONFIDENTIAL  CONVERSATION      269 

is  I  am  going  out  with  my  gun  to  look  for  Simon 
Rattar." 

Carrington  laughed. 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  catch  him  at  some- 
thing a  little  better  known  to  the  charge-sheets 
than  giving  bad  advice  to  a  lady  client,  before  it's 
safe  to  fire!"  said  he. 

"But,  look  here,  Carrington,  have  you  col- 
lected no  other  facts  whatever  about  this  case?" 

Carrington  shot  him  a  curious  glance,  but  an- 
swered nothing  else. 

"Oh  well,"  said  Ned,  "if  you  don't  want  to  say 
anything  yet,  don't  say  it.  Play  your  hand  as 
you  think  best." 

"Mr.  Cromarty,"  replied  Carrington,  "I  assure 
you  I  don't  want  to  make  facts  into  mysteries, 
but  when  they  are  mysteries — well,  I  like  to  think 
'em  over  a  bit  before  I  trust  myself  to  talk.  In  the 
course  of  this  very  afternoon  I've  collected  an 
assortment  either  of  facts  or  fiction  that  seem  to 
have  broken  loose  from  a  travelling  nightmare." 

"Mind  telling  where  you  got  'em?"  asked  Ned. 

"Chiefly  from  Rattar's  housemaid,  a  very  excel- 
lent but  somewhat  high-strung  and  imaginative 
young  woman,  and  how  much  to  believe  of  what 
she  told  me  I  honestly  don't  know.  And  the 
more  one  can  believe,  the  worse  the  puzzle  gets! 
However,  there  is  one  statement  which  I  hope  to 
be  able  to  check.  It  may  throw  some  light  on  the 
lady's  veracity  generally.  Meantime  I  am  like 
a  man  trying  to  build  a  house  of  what  may  be 
bricks  or  may  be  paper  bags." 


270  SIMON 

Ned  rose  with  his  usual  prompt  decision. 

"I  see,"  said  he.  "And  I  guess  you  find  one 
better  company  than  two  at  this  particular  mo- 
ment. I  won't  shoot  Simon  Rattar  till  I  hear 
from  you,  though  by  Gad,  I'm  tempted  to  kick 
him  just  to  be  going  on  with!  But  look  here, 
Carrington,  if  my  services  will  ever  do  you  the 
least  bit  of  good — in  fact,  so  long  as  I'm  not  actu- 
ally in  the  way — just  send  me  a  wire  and  I'll 
come  straight.  You  won't  refuse  me  that  ?" 

Carrington  looked  at  the  six  feet  two  inches 
of  pure  lean  muscle  and  smiled. 

"Not  likely!"  he  said.  "That's  not  the  sort  of 
offer  I  refuse.  I  won't  hesitate  to  wire  if  there's 
anything  happening.  But  don't  count  on  it.  I 
can't  see  any  business  doing  just  yet." 

Ned  held  out  his  hand,  and  then  suddenly  said, 
"You  don't  see  any  business  doing  just  yet?  But 
you  feel  you're  on  his  track,  sure!  Now,  don't 
you?" 

Carrington  glanced  at  him  out  of  an  eye  half 
quizzical,  half  abstracted. 

"Whose  track?"  he  asked. 

Ned  paused  for  a  second  and  then  rapped  out : 

"Was  it  Simon  himself  ?" 

"If  we  were  all  living  in  a  lunatic  asylum, 
probably  yes!  If  we  were  living  in  the  palace 
of  reason,  certainly  not — the  thing's  ridiculous! 
What  we  are  actually  living  in,  however,  is—  "  he 
broke  off  and  gazed  into  space. 

"What?"  said  Ned. 

"A  blank  fog!" 


XXXV 

IN  THE  GARDEN 

IT  was  a  few  minutes  after  half  past  eight 
when  Miss  Peterkin  chanced  to  meet  her  friend 
Mr.  Carrington  in  the  entrance  hall  of  the  Kings 
Arms.  He  was  evidently  going  out,  and  she  no- 
ticed he  was  rather  differently  habited  from 
usual,  wearing  now  a  long,  light  top  coat  of  a 
very  dark  grey  hue,  and  a  dark  coloured  felt  hat. 
They  were  not  quite  so  becoming  as  his  ordinary 
garb,  she  thought,  but  then  Mr.  Carrington 
looked  the  gentleman  in  anything. 

"Are  you  going  to  desert  us  to-night,  Mr. 
Carrington?"  asked  the  manageress. 

"I  have  a  letter  or  two  to  post,"  said  he,  "they 
are  an  excuse  for  a  stroll.  I  want  a  breath  of 
fresh  air." 

He  closed  the  glass  door  of  the  hotel  behind 
him  and  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  pavement  in 
the  little  circle  of  radiance  thrown  by  the  light 
of  the  hall.  Mr.  Carrington's  leisurely  move- 
ments undoubtedly  played  no  small  part  in  the 
unsuspecting  confidence  which  he  inspired.  Out 
of  the  light  he  turned,  strolling  easily,  down  the 
long  stretch  of  black  pavement  with  its  few  check- 
ers of  lamplight  here  and  there,  and  the  empty, 
silent  street  of  the  little  country  town  at  his  side. 

271 


272  SIMON 

It  was  a  very  dark,  moonless  night,  and  the  air 
was  almost  quite  still.  Looking  upward,  he  could 
see  a  rare  star  or  two  twinkle,  but  all  the  rest  of 
the  Heavens  were  under  cloud.  Judging  from 
his  contented  expression  the  night  seemed  to 
please  him. 

He  passed  the  post  office,  but  curiously  enough 
omitted  to  drop  any  letters  into  the  box.  The 
breath  of  fresh  air  seemed,  in  fact,  to  be  his  sole 
preoccupation.  Moving  with  a  slightly  quickened 
stride,  but  still  easily,  he  turned  out  of  that  street 
into  another  even  quieter  and  darker,  and  in  a 
short  time  he  was  nearing  the  lights  of  the  sta- 
tion. He  gave  these  a  wide  birth,  however,  and 
presently  was  strolling  up  a  very  secluded  road, 
with  a  few  villas  and  gardens  upon  the  one  side, 
and  black  space  on  the  other.  There  for  a  mo- 
ment he  stopped  and  transferred  something  from 
the  pocket  of  his  inner  coat  into  the  pocket  of  his 
top  coat.  It  was  a  small  compact  article,  and  a 
ray  of  light  from  a  lamppost  behind  him  gleamed 
for  an  instant  upon  a  circular  metal  orifice  at  one 
end  of  it. 

Before  he  moved  on,  he  searched  the  darkness 
intently,  before  him  and  behind,  but  saw  no  sign 
of  any  other  passenger.  And  then  he  turned  the 
rim  of  his  dark  felt  hat  down  over  his  face, 
stepped  out  briskly  for  some  fifty  yards  further, 
and  turned  sharply  through  an  open  gate.  Once 
again  he  stopped  and  listened  keenly,  standing 
now  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees  beside  the  drive. 
In  his  dark  top  coat  and  with  his  hat  turned  over 


IN  THE  GARDEN  273 

his  face  he  was  as  nearly  invisible  as  a  man  could 
be,  but  even  this  did  not  seem  to  satisfy  him,  for 
in  a  moment  he  gently  parted  the  branches  of  the 
trees  and  pushed  through  the  belt  of  planting  to 
the  lawn  beyond. 

The  villa  of  Mr.  Simon  Rattar  was  now  half 
seen  beyond  the  curving  end  of  the  belt  that 
bounded  the  drive.  It  was  dim  against  the  night 
sky,  and  the  garden  was  dimmer  still.  Carring- 
ton  kept  on  the  grass,  following  the  outside  of 
the  trees,  and  then  again  plunged  into  them  when 
they  curved  round  at  the  top  of  the  drive.  Push- 
ing quietly  through,  he  reached  the  other  side, 
and  there  his  expedition  in  search  of  fresh  air 
seemed  to  have  found  its  goal,  for  he  leaned  his 
back  against  a  tree  trunk,  folded  his  arms,  and 
waited. 

He  was  looking  obliquely  across  a  sweep  of 
gravel,  writh  the  whole  front  of  the  house  full  in 
view.  A  ray  came  from  the  fanlight  over  the 
front  door  and  a  faint  radiance  escaped  through 
the  slats  of  the  library  blinds,  but  otherwise  the 
villa  was  a  lump  of  darkness  in  the  dark. 

One  minute  after  another  passed  without  event 
and  with  scarcely  even  the  faintest  sound.  Then, 
all  at  once,  a  little  touch  of  breeze  sprang  up  and 
sighed  overhead  through  the  tree  tops,  and  from 
that  time  on,  there  was  an  alternation  of  utter 
silence  with  the  sough  of  branches  gently  stirred. 

From  a  church  tower  in  the  town  came  the 
stroke  of  a  clock.  Carrington  counted  nine  and 
his  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  front  door  now. 


274  SIMON 

Barely  two  more  minutes  passed  before  it  opened 
quietly;  a  figure  appeared  for  an  instant  in  the 
light  of  the  hall,  and  then,  as  quietly,  the  door 
closed  again.  There  was  a  lull  at  the  moment, 
but  Carrington  could  hear  not  a  sound.  The 
figure  must  be  standing  very  still  on  the  doorstep, 
listening — evidently  listening.  And  then  the 
thickset  form  of  Simon  Rattar  appeared  dimly 
on  the  gravel,  crossing  to  the  lawn  beyond.  The 
pebbles  crunched  a  little,  but  not  very  much.  He 
seemed  to  be  walking  warily,  and  when  he 
reached  the  further  side  he  stood  still  again  and 
Carrington  could  see  his  head  moving,  as  though 
he  were  looking  all  round  him  through  the  night. 

But  now  the  figure  was  moving  again,  coming 
this  time  straight  for  the  head  of  the  belt  of  trees. 
Carrington  had  drawn  on  a  pair  of  dark  gloves, 
and  he  raised  his  arm  to  cover  the  lower  part  of 
his  face,  looking  over  it  through  the  branches,  and 
facing  the  silent  owner  of  the  garden,  till  there 
were  hardly  three  paces  between  them,  the  one  on 
the  lawn,  the  other  in  the  heart  of  the  plantation. 

And  then  when  Simon  was  exactly  opposite, 
he  stopped  dead.  Carrington's  other  hand 
slipped  noiselessly  into  the  pocket  where  he  had 
dropped  that  little  article,  but  otherwise  he  never 
moved  a  muscle  and  he  breathed  very  gently. 
The  man  on  the  turf  seemed  to  be  doing  some- 
thing with  his  hands,  but  what,  it  was  impossible 
to  say.  The  hands  would  move  into  his  pocket 
and  then  out  again,  till  quite  three  or  four  min- 
utes had  passed,  and  then  came  a  sudden  flash 


IN  THE  GARDEN  275 

of  light.  Carrington's  right  hand  moved  half- 
way out  of  his  pocket  and  then  was  stayed,  for  by 
the  light  of  the  match  he  saw  a  very  singular  sight. 

Simon  Rattar  was  not  looking  at  him.  His 
eyes  were  focussed  just  before  his  nose  where  the 
bowl  of  a  pipe  was  beginning  to  glow.  Carring- 
ton  could  hear  the  lips  gently  sucking,  and  then 
the  aroma  of  tobacco  came  in  a  strong  wave 
through  the  trees.  Finally  the  match  went  out, 
and  the  glowing  pipe  began  to  move  slowly  along 
the  turf,  keeping  close  to  the  shelter  of  the  trees. 

For  a  space  Carrington  stood  petrified  with 
wonder,  and  then,  very  carefully  and  quite 
silently,  he  worked  his  way  through  the  trees  out 
on  to  the  turf,  and  at  once  fell  on  his  hands  and 
knees.  Had  any  one  been  there  to  see,  they  would 
have  beheld  for  the  next  five  minutes  a  strange 
procession  of  two  slowly  moving  along  the  edge 
of  the  plantation;  a  thickset  man  in  front  smok- 
ing a  pipe  and  something  like  a  great  gorilla 
stalking  him  from  behind.  This  procession 
skirted  the  plantation  nearly  down  to  the  gate; 
then  it  turned  at  right  angles,  following  the  line 
of  trees  that  bordered  the  wall  between  the  gar- 
den and  the  road ;  and  then  again  at  right  angles 
when  it  had  reached  the  further  corner  of  Mr. 
Rattar's  demesne.  Simon  was  now  in  a  secluded 
path  with  shrubs  on  either  hand,  and  instead  of 
continuing  his  tour,  he  turned  at  the  end  of  this 
path  and  paced  slowly  back  again.  And  seeing 
this,  the  ape  behind  him  squatted  in  the  shadow 
of  a  laurel  and  waited. 


276  SIMON 

A  steady  breeze  was  now  blowing  and  the  trees 
were  sighing  continuously.  The  sky  at  the  same 
time  cleared,  and  more  and  more  stars  came  out 
till  the  eyes  of  the  man  behind  the  bush  could 
follow  the  moving  man  from  end  to  end  of  the 
path.  The  wind  made  the  pipe  smoke  quickly, 
and  presently  a  shower  of  sparks  showed  that  it 
was  being  emptied,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  an- 
other match  flashed  and  a  second  pipe  glowed 
faintly. 

Backwards  and  forwards  paced  the  lawyer, and 
backwards  and  forwards  again,  but  for  the  space 
of  nearly  an  hour  from  his  first  coming  out,  that 
was  everything  that  happened;  and  then  at  last 
came  a  tapping  of  the  bowl  and  more  sparks  fly- 
ing abroad  in  the  wind.  The  procession  was  re- 
sumed, Simon  in  front,  the  ape-like  form  behind ; 
but  with  a  greater  space  between  them  this  time  as 
the  night  was  clearer,  and  now  they  were  heading 
for  the  house.  The  lawyer's  steps  crunched  light- 
ly on  the  gravel  again,  the  front  door  opened  and 
closed,  and  Carrington  was  alone  in  the  garden. 

Still  crawling,  he  reached  the  shelter  of  the  belt 
of  trees  and  then  rose  and  made  swiftly  for  the 
gate,  and  out  into  the  road.  As  he  passed  under 
a  lamp,  his  face  wore  a  totally  new  expression, 
compounded  of  wonder,  excitement,  and  urgent 
thought.  He  was  walking  swiftly,  and  his  pace 
never  slackened,  nor  did  the  keenness  leave  his 
face,  till  he  was  back  at  the  door  of  the  Kings 
Arms  Hotel.  Before  he  entered,  he  took  off  his 
hat  and  turned  up  the  brim  again,  and  his  man- 


IN  THE  GARDEN  277 

ner  when  he  tapped  at  the  door  of  the  man- 
ageress' room  was  perfectly  sedate.  He  let  it  ap- 
pear, however,  that  he  had  some  slight  matter  on 
his  mind. 

"What  is  the  name  of  Mr.  Rattar's  head 
clerk?"  he  enquired.  "An  oldish,  prim  looking 
man,  with  side  whiskers." 

"Oh,  that  will  be  Mr.  Ison,"  said  the  man- 
ageress. 

"I  have  just  remembered  a  bit  of  business  I 
ought  to  have  seen  about  to-night,"  he  continued. 
"I  can't  very  well  call  on  Mr.  Rattar  himself  at 
this  hour,  but  I  was  thinking  of  looking  up  Mr. 
Ison  if  I  could  discover  his  whereabouts." 

"The  boots  will  show  you  the  way  to  his  house," 
said  she,  and  rang  the  bell. 

While  waiting  for  the  boots,  Mr.  Carrington 
asked  another  casual  question  or  two  and  learned 
that  Mr.  Ison  had  been  in  the  office  since  he  was 
a  boy.  No  man  knew  the  house  of  Rattar 
throughout  its  two  generations  better  than  Mr. 
Ison,  said  Miss  Peterkin;  and  she  remembered 
afterwards  that  this  information  seemed  to  give 
Mr.  Carrington  peculiar  satisfaction.  He  seemed 
so  gratified,  indeed,  that  she  wondered  a  little  at 
the  time. 

And  then  the  visitor  and  the  boots  set  out  to- 
gether for  the  clerk's  house,  and  at  what  hour  her 
guest  returned  she  was  not  quite  sure.  The 
boots,  it  seemed,  had  been  instructed  to  wait  up 
for  him,  but  she  had  long  gone  to  bed. 


XXXVI 

THE  WALKING  STICK 

HAD  there  been,  next  morning,  any  curious 
eyes  to  watch  the  conduct  of  the  gentleman  who 
had  come  to  rent  a  sporting  estate,  they  would 
probably  have  surmised  that  he  had  found  some- 
thing to  please  his  fancy  strangely,  and  yet  that 
some  perplexity  still  persisted.  They  would  also 
have  put  him  down  as  a  much  more  excitable,  and 
even  demonstrative,  young  man  than  they  had 
imagined.  On  a  lonely  stretch  of  shore  hard  by 
the  Jittle  town  he  paced  for  nearly  an  hour,  his 
face  a  record  of  the  debate  within,  and  his  cane 
gesticulating  at  intervals. 

Of  a  sudden  he  stopped  dead  and  his  lips 
moved  in  a  murmured  ejaculation,  and  then  after 
standing  stock  still  for  some  minutes,  he  mur- 
mured again : 

"Ten  to  one  on  it!" 

His  cane  had  been  stationary  during  this 
pause.  Now  he  raised  it  once  more,  but  this  time 
with  careful  attention.  It  was  a  light  bamboo 
with  a  silver  head.  He  looked  at  it  thoughtfully, 
bent  it  this  way  and  that,  and  then  drove  it  into 
the  sand  and  pressed  it  down.  Though  to  the 
ordinary  eye  a  very  chaste  and  appropriate  walk- 
ing stick  for  such  a  gentleman  as  Mr.  Carring- 

278 


THE  WALKING  STICK  279 

ton,  the  result  of  these  tests  seemed  to  dissatisfy 
him.  He  shook  his  head,  and  then  with  an  air  of 
resolution  set  out  for  the  town. 

A  little  later  he  entered  a  shop  where  a  number 
of  walking  sticks  were  on  view  and  informed  the 
proprietor  that  he  desired  to  purchase  something 
more  suitable  for  the  country  than  the  cane  he 
carried.  In  fact,  his  taste  seemed  now  to  run  to 
the  very  opposite  extreme,  for  the  points  on 
which  he  insisted  were  length,  stiffness,  and  a 
long  and  if  possible  somewhat  pointed  ferule. 
At  last  he  found  one  to  his  mind,  left  his  own 
cane  to  be  sent  down  to  the  hotel,  and  walked 
out  with  his  new  purchase. 

His  next  call  was  at  Mr.  Simon  Rattar's  villa. 
This  morning  he  approached  it  without  any  of 
the  curious  shyness  he  had  exhibited  on  the  occa- 
sion of  his  recent  visit.  His  advance  was  con- 
ducted openly  up  the  drive  and  in  an  erect  pos- 
ture, and  he  crossed  the  gravel  space  boldly,  and 
even  jauntily,  while  his  ring  was  firmness  itself. 
Mary  answered  the  bell,  and  her  pleasure  at  see- 
ing so  soon  again  the  sympathetic  gentleman  with 
the  eye  glass  was  a  tribute  to  his  tact. 

"Good  morning,  Mary,"  said  he,  with  an  air 
that  combined  very  happily  the  courtesy  of  a 
gentleman  with  the  freedom  of  an  old  friend, 
"Mr.  Rattar  is  at  his  office,  I  presume." 

She  said  that  he  was,  but  this  time  the  visitor 
exhibited  neither  surprise  nor  disappointment. 

"I  thought  he  would  be,"  he  confessed  confi- 
dentially, "and  I  have  come  to  see  whether  I 


280  SIMON 

couldn't  do  something  to  help  you  to  get  at  the 
bottom  of  these  troublesome  goings  on.  Any- 
thing fresh  happened?" 

"The  master  was  out  in  the  garden  again  last 
night,  sir!"  said  she. 

"Was  he  really?"  cried  Mr.  Carrington.  "By 
Jove,  how  curious!  We  really  must  look  into 
that :  in  fact,  I've  got  an  idea  I  want  you  to  help 
me  with.  By  the  way,  it  sounds  an  odd  question 
to  ask  about  Mr.  Rattar,  but  have  you  ever  seen 
any  sign  of  a  pipe  or  tobacco  in  the  house?" 

"Oh,  never  indeed !"  said  she.  "The  master  has 
never  been  a  smoking  gentleman.  Quite  against 
smoking  he's  always  been,  sir." 

"Ever  since  you  have  known  him?" 

"Oh,  and  before  that,  sir." 

"Ah!"  observed  Mr.  Carrington  in  a  manner 
that  suggested  nothing  whatever.  "Well,  Mary, 
I  want  this  morning  to  have  a  look  round  the 
garden." 

Her  eyes  opened. 

"Because  the  master  walks  there  at  nights?" 

He  nodded  confidentially. 

"But — but  if  he  was  to  know  you'd  been  inter- 
fering, sir — I  mean  what  he'd  think  was  inter- 
fering, sir — 

"He  shan't  know,"  he  assured  her.  "At  least 
not  if  you'll  do  what  I  tell  you.  I  want  you  to  go 
now  and  have  a  nice  quiet  talk  with  cook  for  half 
an  hour — half  an  hour  by  the  kitchen  clock,  Mary, 
if  you  don't  look  out  of  the  window,  you  won't 
know  that  I'm  in  the  garden,  and  then  nobody 


THE  WALKING  STICK  281 

can  blame  you  whatever  happens.  We  haven't 
mentioned  the  word  'garden'  between  us — so  you 
are  out  of  it !  Remember  that." 

He  smiled  so  pleasantly  that  Mary  smiled 
back. 

"I'll  remember,  sir,"  said  she.  "And  cook  is  to 
be  kept  talking  in  the  kitchen?" 

"You've  tumbled  to  it  exactly,  Mary.  If 
neither  of  you  see  me,  neither  of  you  know  any- 
thing at  all." 

She  got  a  last  glimpse  of  his  sympathetic  smile 
as  she  closed  the  door,  and  then  she  went  faith- 
fully to  the  kitchen  for  her  talk  with  cook.  It 
was  quite  a  pleasant  gossip  at  first,  but  half  an 
hour  is  a  long  time  to  keep  talking,  when  one  has 
been  asked  not  to  stop  sooner,  and  it  so  happened, 
moreover,  that  cook  was  somewhat  busy  that 
morning  and  began  at  length  to  indicate  dis- 
tinctly that  unless  her  friend  had  some  matter  of 
importance  to  communicate  she  would  regard 
further  verbiage  with  disfavour.  At  this  junc- 
ture Mary  decided  that  twenty  minutes  was  prac- 
tically as  good  as  half  an  hour,  and  the  conversa- 
tion ceased. 

Passing  out  of  the  kitchen  regions,  Mary 
glanced  towards  a  distant  window,  hesitated,  and 
then  came  to  another  decision.  Mr.  Carrington 
must  surely  have  left  the  garden  now,  so  there 
was  no  harm  in  peeping  out.  She  went  to  the 
window  and  peeped. 

It  was  only  a  two  minutes'  peep,  for  Mr.  Car- 
rington had  not  left  the  garden,  and  at  the  end 


282  SIMON 

of  that  space  of  time  something  very  disturbing 
happened.  But  it  was  long  enough  to  make  her 
marvel  greatly  at  her  sympathetic  friend's 
method  of  solving  the  riddle  of  the  master's 
conduct.  When  she  first  saw  him,  he  seemed  to 
be  smoothing  the  earth  in  one  of  the  flower  beds 
with  his  foot.  Then  he  moved  on  a  few  paces, 
stopped,  and  drove  his  walking  stick  hard  into 
the  bed.  She  saw  him  lean  on  it  to  get  it  further 
in  and  apparently  twist  it  about  a  little.  And 
then  he  withdrew  it  again  and  was  in  the  act  of 
smoothing  the  place  when  she  saw  him  glance 
sharply  towards  the  gate,  and  the  next  instant 
leap  behind  a  bush.  Simultaneously  the  hum 
of  a  motor  car  fell  on  her  ear,  and  Mary  was 
out  of  the  room  and  speeding  upstairs. 

She  heard  the  car  draw  up  before  the  house 
and  listened  for  the  front  door  bell,  but  the  door 
opened  without  a  ring  and  she  marvelled  and 
trembled  afresh.  That  the  master  should  re- 
turn in  a  car  at  this  hour  of  the  morning  seemed 
surely  to  be  connected  with  the  sin  she  had  con- 
nived at.  It  swelled  into  a  crime  as  she  held 
her  breath  and  listened.  She  wished  devoutly 
she  had  never  set  eyes  on  the  insinuating  Mr. 
Carrington. 

But  there  came  no  call  for  her,  or  no  ringing 
of  any  bell;  merely  sounds  of  movement  in  the 
hall  below,  heard  through  the  thrumming  of  the 
waiting  car.  And  then  the  front  door  opened 
and  shut  again  and  she  ventured  to  the  window. 
It  was  a  little  open  and  she  could  hear  her  master 


THE  WALKING  STICK  283 

speak  to  the  chauffeur  as  he  got  in.  He  was  now 
wearing,  she  noticed,  a  heavy  overcoat.  A  mo- 
ment more  and  he  was  off  again,  down  the  drive, 
and  out  through  the  gates.  When  she  remem- 
bered to  look  again  for  her  sympathetic  friend,  he 
was  quietly  driving  his  walking  stick  once  more 
into  a  flower  bed. 

About  ten  minutes  afterwards  the  front  door 
bell  rang  and  there  stood  Mr.  Carrington  again. 
His  eye  seemed  strangely  bright,  she  thought, 
but  his  manner  was  calm  and  soothing  as  ever. 

"I  noticed  Mr.  Rattar  return,"  he  said,  "and 
I  thought  I  would  like  to  make  sure  that  it  was 
all  right,  before  I  left.  I  trust,  Mary,  that  you 
have  got  into  no  trouble  on  my  account." 

She  thought  it  was  very  kind  of  him  to  enquire. 

"The  master  was  only  just  in  and  out  again," 
she  assured  him. 

"He  came  to  get  his  overcoat,  I  noticed,"  he 
remarked. 

Mr.  Carrington's  powers  of  observation  struck 
her  as  very  surprising  for  such  an  easy-going 
gentleman. 

"Yes,  sir,  that  was  all." 

"Well,  I'm  very  glad  it  was  all  right,"  he 
smiled  and  began  to  turn  away.  "By  the  way," 
he  asked,  turning  back,  "did  he  tell  you  where 
he  is  going  to  now?" 

"He  didn't  see  me,  sir." 

"You  didn't  happen  to  overhear  him  giving 
any  directions  to  the  chauffeur,  did  you?  I 
noticed  you  at  an  open  window." 


284  SIMON 

For  the  first  time  Mary's  sympathetic  friend 
began  to  make  her  feel  a  trifle  uncomfortable. 
His  eyes  seemed  to  be  everywhere. 

"I  thought  I  heard  him  say  'Keldale  House,' ' 
she  confessed. 

"Really!"  he  exclaimed  and  seemed  to  muse 
for  a  moment.  In  fact,  he  appeared  to  be  still 
musing  as  he  walked  away. 

Mary  began  to  wonder  very  seriously  whether 
Mr.  Carrington  was  going  to  prove  merely  a 
fresh  addition  to  the  disquieting  mysteries  of  that 
house. 


XXXVII 

BISSET'S  ADVICE 

THE  short  November  afternoon  was  fading 
into  a  gusty  evening,  as  Ned  Cromarty  drew 
near  his  fortalice.  He  carried  a  gun  as  usual, 
and  as  usual  walked  with  seven  league  strides. 
Where  the  drive  passed  through  the  scrap  of 
stunted  plantation  it  was  already  dusk  and  the 
tortured  boughs  had  begun  their  night  of  sighs 
and  tossings.  Beyond  them,  pale  daylight  lin- 
gered and  the  old  house  stood  up  still  dear 
against  a  broken  sky  and  a  grey  waste  with  flit- 
ting whitecaps  all  the  way  to  the  horizon.  He 
had  almost  reached  the  front  door  when  he  heard 
the  sound  of  wheels  behind  him.  Pausing  there, 
he  spied  a  pony  and  a  governess'  car,  with  two 
pesple  distinct  enough  to  bring  a  sudden  light 
into  his  eye.  The  pony  trotted  briskly  towards 
the  door,  and  he  took  a  stride  to  meet  them. 

"Miss  Farmond!"  he  said. 

A  low  voice  answered,  and  though  he  could  not 
catch  the  words,  the  tone  was  enough  for  him. 
And  then  another  voice  said: 

"Aye,  sir,  I've  brought  her  over." 

"Bisset!"  said  he.  "It's  you,  is  it?  Well, 
what's  happened?" 

He  was  lifting  her  out  of  the  trap  and  not 

285 


286  SIMON 

hesitating  to  hold  her  hand  a  little  longer  than 
he  had  ever  held  it  before,  now  that  he  could 
see  her  face  quite  plainly  and  read  what  was  in 
her  eyes. 

"I've  dared  to  come  after  all!"  she  said,  with  a 
little  smile,  which  seemed  to  hint  that  she  knew 
the  risk  was  over  now. 

"I  advised  her  vera  strongly,  sir,  to  come  over 
with  me  to  Stanesland,"  explained  her  escort. 
"The  young  lady  has  had  a  trying  experience  at 
Keldale,  and  forby  the  fair  impossibility  of 
her  stopping  on  under  the  unfortunate  circum- 
stances, I  was  of  the  opinion  that  the  sea  air 
would  be  a  fine  change  and  the  architectural  fea- 
tures remarkably  interesting.  In  fac',  sir,  I 
practically  insisted  that  Miss  Farmond  had  just 
got  to  come." 

"Good  man!"  said  Ned.  "Come  in  and  tell 
me  the  unfortunate  circumstances."  He  bent 
over  Cicely  and  in  a  lowered  voice  added:  "Per- 
sonally I  call  'em  fortunate — so  long  as  they 
haven't  been  too  beastly  for  you!" 

"It's  all  right  now!"  she  murmured,  and  as 
they  went  up  the  steps  he  found,  somehow  or 
other,  her  hand  for  an  instant  in  his  again. 

"If  you'll  stand  by  your  pony  for  a  moment, 
Bisset,  I'll  send  out  some  one  to  take  her,"  he 
said  with  happy  inspiration. 

But  Mr.  Bisset  was  not  so  easily  shaken  off. 

"She'll  stand  fine  for  a  wee  while,"  he  assured 
his  host.  "You'll  be  the  better  of  hearing  all 
about  it  from  me." 


BISSET'S  ADVICE  28? 

They  went  into  the  smoking  room  and  the 
escort  began  forthwith. 

"The  fact  is,  Mr.  Cromarty,  that  yon  man 
Simon  Rattar  is  a  fair  discredit.  Miss  Farmond 
has  been  telling  me  the  haill  story  of  her  run- 
ning away,  and  your  ain  vera  seasonable  appear- 
ance and  judicious  conduct,  sir;  which  I  am 
bound  to  say,  Mr.  Cromarty,  is  neither  more  nor 
less  than  I'd  have  expectit  of  a  gentleman  of 
your  intelligence.  Weel,  to  continue,  Miss  Far- 
mond acted  on  your  advice — which  would  have 
been  my  own,  sir,  under  the  circumstances — and 
tellt  her  ladyship  the  plain  facts.  Weel  then— 

"And  what  did  Lady  Cromarty  say  to  you?" 
demanded  Ned. 

"Hardly  a  word.  She  simply  looked  at  me 
and  said  she  would  send  for  Mr.  Rattar." 

Not  a  whit  rebuffed,  Mr.  Bisset  straightway 
resumed  his  narrative. 

"A  perfectly  proper  principle  if  the  man  was 
capable  of  telling  the  truth.  I'm  no  blaming  her 
ladyship  at  that  point,  but  where  she  departit 
from  the  proper  principles  of  evidence " 

"When  did  Rattar  come?" 

"This  morning,"  said  Cicely.  "And — can  you 
believe  it? — he  absolutely  denied  that  he  had 
ever  advised  me  to  go  away!" 

"I  can  believe  it,"  said  Ned  grimly.  "And  I 
suppose  Lady  Cromarty  believed  him?" 

"God,  but  you're  right,  sir!"  cried  Bisset. 
"Your  deductions  are  perfectly  correct.  Yon 
man  had  the  impudence  to  give  the  haill  thing  a 


288  SIMON 

flat  denial!  And  then  naturally  Miss  Farmond 
was  for  off,  but  at  first  her  ladyship  was  no  for 
letting  her  go.  Indeed  she  went  the  length  of 
sending  for  me  and  telling  me  the  young  lady 
was  not  to  be  permitted  to  shift  her  luggage  out 
of  the  house  or  use  any  conveyance." 

"But  Bisset  was  splendid!"  cried  Cicely.  "Do 
you  know  what  the  foolish  man  did?  He  gave 
up  his  situation  and  took  me  away!" 

Bisset,  the  man,  permitted  a  gleam  of  pleasure 
to  illuminate  his  blunt  features;  but  Bisset,  the 
philosopher,  protested  with  some  dignity. 

"It  was  a  mere  matter  of  principle,  sir.  De- 
tention of  luggage  like  yon  is  no  legal.  I  tellt 
her  ladyship  flatly  that  she'd  find  herself  afore 
the  Shirra',  and  that  I  was  no  going  to  abet  any 
such  proceedings.  I  further  informed  her,  sir,  of 
my  candid  opinion  of  Simon  Rattar,  and  I  said 
plainly  that  he  was  probably  meaning  to  marry 
her  and  get  the  estate  under  his  thumb,  and  these 
were  the  kind  o'  tricks  rascally  lawyers  took  in 
foolish  women  wi'." 

"You  told  Lady  Cromarty  that!"  exclaimed 
Ned.  "And  what  did  she  say?" 

"We  had  a  few  disagreeable  passages,  as  it 
were,  sir,"  said  the  philosopher  calmly.  "And 
then  I  borrowed  yon  trap  and  having  advised 
Miss  Farmond  to  come  to  Stanesland  and  she 
being  amenable,  I  just  brought  her  along  to  you." 

"Oh,  it  was  on  your  advice  then?" 

"Yes,  sir." 


BISSET'S  ADVICE  289 

Cicely  and  her  host  exchanged  one  fleeting 
glance  and  then  looked  extremely  unconscious. 

"She's  derned  wise!"  said  he  to  himself. 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  the  gratified  coun- 
sellor. 

"Well  done,  Bisset,  you've  touched  your  top 
form  to-day,  and  I  may  tell  you  I've  been  want- 
ing some  one  like  you  badly  for  a  long  while,  if 
you  are  willing  to  stay  on  with  me.  Put  that 
in  your  pipe,  Bisset,  and  smoke  over  it!  And 
now,  you  know  your  way,  go  and  get  yourself 
some  tea,  and  a  drink  of  the  wildest  poison  you 
fancy!" 

Hardly  was  the  door  closed  behind  him  than 
the  laird  put  his  fate  to  the  test  as  promptly  and 
directly  as  he  did  most  other  things. 

"I  want  you  to  stop  on  too,  Cicely — for  ever. 
Will  you?" 

Her  eyes,  shyly  questioning  for  a  moment  and 
then  shyly  tender,  answered  his  question  before 
her  lips  had  moved,  and  it  would  have  been  hard 
to  convince  them  that  the  minutes  which  followed 
ever  had  a  parallel  within  human  experience. 

A  little  later  he  confessed: 

"Do  you  know,  Cicely,  I've  always  had  a  funky 
feeling  that  if  I  ever  proposed  my  glass  eye 
would  drop  out!" 

The  next  event  was  the  somewhat  sudden  entry 
of  Lilian  Cromarty,  and  that  lady's  self  control 
was  never  more  severely  tested  or  brilliantly  vin- 
dicated. One  startled  glance,  and  then  she  was 
saying,  briskly,  and  with  the  old  bright  smile: 


290  SIMON 

"A  telegram  for  you,  Ned." 

"Thanks,"  said  he.  "By  the  way,  here's  the 
future  Mrs.  Ned — that's  to  say  if  she  doesn't 
funk  it  before  the  wedding." 

Lilian's  welcome,  Lilian's  embrace,  and  Lil- 
ian's congratulations  were  alike  perfect.  Cicely 
wondered  how  people  could  ever  have  said  the 
critical  things  of  her  which  some  of  her  acquain- 
tances were  unkind  enough  to  say  at  times.  As 
to  Bisset's  dictum  regarding  the  lady  in  the 
castle,  that  was  manifestly  absurd  on  the  face 
of  it.  Miss  Cromarty  was  clearly  overjoyed  to 
hear  of  her  brother's  engagement. 

"And  now,  Neddy  dear!"  cried  the  bright  lady, 
"tell  me  how  it  all  came  about!" 

Ned  looked  up  from  his  telegram  with  a  glint 
in  his  eye  that  was  hardly  a  lover's  glance. 

"Cicely  will  tell  you  all  about  it,"  said  he.  "I'm 
afraid  I've  got  to  be  off  pretty  well  as  quick  as 
I  can." 

He  handed  them  the  wire  and  they  read: 
"Meet  me  eight  to-night  Kings  Arms  urgent. 
Carrington." 

"From  Mr.  Carrington!"  exclaimed  his  sister. 

Ned  smiled. 

"Cicely  will  explain  him  too,"  he  said.  "By 
Gad,  I  wonder  if  this  is  going  to  be  the  finishing 
bit  of  luck!" 

In  another  twenty  minutes  the  lights  of  his 
gig  lamps  were  raking  the  night. 


XXXVIII 

TRAPPED 

CROMARTY  and  Carrington  slipped  unosten- 
tatiously out  of  the  hotel  a  few  minutes  after 
eight  o'clock. 

"Take  any  line  you  like,"  said  Carrington, 
"but  as  he  knows  now  that  you  brought  Miss 
Farmond  back  and  have  heard  her  version,  he'll 
naturally  be  feeling  a  little  uncomfortable  about 
the  place  where  one  generally  gets  kicked,  when 
he  sees  you  march  in.  He  will  expect  you  to 
open  out  on  that  subject,  so  if  I  were  you  I'd 
take  the  natural  line  of  country  and  do  what  he 
expects." 

"Including  the  kicking?" 

Carrington  laughed. 

"Keep  him  waiting  for  that.  Spin  it  out; 
that's  your  job  to-night." 

"I  wish  it  were  more  than  talking !"  said  Ned. 

"Well,"  drawled  Carrington,  "it  may  lead  to 
something  more  amusing.  Who  knows?  You 
haven't  bought  your  own  gun,  I  suppose?  Take 
mine." 

He  handed  him  the  same  little  article  he 
had  taken  out  the  night  before,  and  Ned's  eye 
gleamed. 

291 


292  SIMON 

"What!"  said  he.  "That  kind  of  gun  once 
more?  This  reminds  me  of  old  times!" 

"It's  a  mere  precaution,"  said  the  other.  "Don't 
count  on  using  it!    Remember,  you're  going  to 
visit  the  most  respectable  citizen  of  the  town— 
perhaps  on  a  wild  goose  errand." 

"I  guess  not,"  said  Ned  quietly. 

"We  daren't  assume  anything.  I  don't  want 
to  make  a  fool  of  myself,  and  no  more  do  you, 
I  take  it." 

"I  see,"  said  Ned,  with  a  nod.  "Well,  I'll  keep 
him  in  his  chair  for  you." 

"That's  it." 

They  were  walking  quickly  through  the  silent 
town  under  the  windy  night  sky.  It  was  a  dark 
boisterous  evening,  not  inviting  for  strollers,  and 
they  scarcely  passed  a  soul  till  they  were  in  the 
quiet  road  where  the  villa  stood.  There,  from 
the  shadows  of  a  gateway,  two  figures  moved  out 
to  meet  them,  and  Cromarty  recognised  Superin- 
tendent Sutherland  and  one  of  his  constables. 
The  two  saluted  in  silence  and  fell  in  behind. 
They  each  carried,  he  noticed,  something  long- 
shaped  wrapped  up  loosely  in  sacking. 

"What  have  they  got  there?"  he  asked. 

"Prosaic  instruments,"  smiled  Carrington.  "I 
won't  tell  you  more  for  fear  the  gamble  doesn't 
come  off." 

"Like  the  sensation  before  one  proposes,  I 
suppose,"  said  Ned.  "Well,  going  by  that,  the 
omens  ought  to  be  all  right." 


TRAPPED  293 

They  turned  in  through  Simon's  gates  and 
then  the  four  stopped. 

"We  part  here,"  whispered  Carrington.  "Good 
luck!" 

"Same  to  you,"  said  Ned  briefly,  and  strode 
up  the  drive. 

As  he  came  out  into  the  gravel  sweep  before 
the  house,  he  looked  hard  into  the  darkness  of 
the  garden,  but  beyond  the  tossing  shapes  of 
trees,  there  was  not  a  sign  of  movement. 

"Mr.  Rattar  in?"  he  enquired.  "Sitting  in  the 
library  I  suppose?  Take  me  right  to  him. 
Cromarty's  my  name." 

"Mr.  Cromarty  to  see  you,  sir,"  announced 
Mary,  and  she  was  startled  to  see  the  master's 
sudden  turn  in  his  chair  and  the  look  upon  his 
face. 

"Whether  he  was  feared  or  whether  he  was 
angered,  I  canna  rightly  say,"  she  told  cook,  "but 
anyway  he  looked  fair  mad  like!" 

"Good  evening,"  said  Ned. 

His  voice  was  restrained  and  dry,  and  as  he 
spoke  he  strode  across  the  room  and  seated  him- 
self deliberately  in  the  arm  chair  on  the  side  of 
the  fire  opposite  to  the  lawyer. 

Simon  had  banished  that  first  look  which  Mary 
saw,  but  there  remained  in  his  eyes  something 
more  than  their  usual  cold  stare.  Each  day  since 
Carrington  came  seemed  to  have  aged  his  face 
and  changed  it  for  the  worse:  a  haggard,  ugly, 
malicious  face  it  seemed  to  his  visitor  looking 


294  SIMON 

hard  at  it  to-night.  His  only  greeting  was  a 
briefer  grunt  than  ordinary. 

"I  daresay  you  can  guess  what's  brought  me 
here,"  said  Ned. 

The  lawyer  rapped  out  his  first  words  jerkily. 

"No.    I  can't." 

"Try  three  guesses,"  suggested  his  visitor. 
"Come  now,  number  one ?" 

For  a  moment  Simon  was  silent,  but  to-night 
he  could  not  hide  the  working  of  that  face  which 
usually  hid  his  thoughts  so  effectually.  It  was 
plain  he  hesitated  what  line  to  take. 

"You  have  seen  Miss  Farmond,  I  hear,"  he 
said. 

"You're  on  the  scent,"  said  his  visitor  encour- 
agingly. "Have  another  go." 

"You  believe  her  story." 

"I  do." 

"It's  false." 

Ned  stared  at  him  very  hard  and  then  he 
spoke  deliberately. 

"I'm  wondering,"  said  he. 

"Wondering  what?"  asked  Simon. 

"Whether  a  horse  whip  or  the  toe  of  a  shooting 
boot  is  the  best  cure  for  your  complaint." 

The  lawyer  shrank  back  into  his  chair. 

"Do  you  threaten  me?"  he  jerked  out.  "Be 
careful!" 

"If  I  threatened  you  I'd  certainly  do  what  I 
threatened,"  said  Ned.  "So  far  I'm  only  won- 
dering. Where  did  you  learn  to  lie,  Mr.  Rattar?" 

The  lawyer  made  no  answer  at  all.    His  mind 


TRAPPED  295 

seemed  concentrated  on  guessing  the  other's  prob- 
able actions. 

"Out  with  it,  man !  I've  met  some  denied  good 
liars  in  my  time,  but  you  beat  the  lot.  I'm 
anxious  to  know  where  you  learned  the  trick, 
that's  all." 

"Why  do  you  believe  her  more  than  me?" 
asked  Simon. 

"Because  you've  been  found  out  lying  before. 
That  was  a  pretty  stiff  one  about  your  engaging 
Carrington,  wasn't  it?" 

Simon  was  quite  unable  to  control  his  violent 
start,  and  his  face  turned  whiter. 

"I — I  didn't  say  I  did,"  he  stammered. 

"Well,"  said  Ned,  "I  admit  I  wasn't  there  to 
hear  you,  but  I  know  Carrington  made  you  put 
your  foot  fairly  in  it  just  by  way  of  helping 
him  to  size  you  up,  and  he  got  your  size  right 
enough  too." 

"Then "  began  Simon,  and  stopped  and 

changed  it  into :  "What  does  Carrington  suspect 
— er — accuse  me  of?" 

Ned  stared  at  him  for  several  seconds  without 
speaking,  and  this  procedure  seemed  to  discon- 
cert the  lawyer  more  than  anything  had  done 
yet. 

"What — what  does  Carrington  mean?"  he  re- 
peated. 

"He  means  you've  lied,  and  he  believes  Miss 
Farmond,  and  he  believes  Sir  Malcolm,  and  he 
believes  me,  and  he  puts  you  down  as  a  pretty 


296  SIMON 

bad  egg.  What  did  you  expect  to  be  accused 
of?" 

Simon  could  no  more  hide  his  relief  to-night 
than  he  could  hide  his  fears. 

"Only  of  what  you  have  told  me — only  of 
course  of  what  you  say!  But  I  can  explain. 
In  good  time  I  can  explain." 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  the  door  opened 
sharply  and  the  start  the  lawyer  gave  showed  the 
state  of  his  nerves  after  Mr.  Cromarty's  hand- 
ling. Mary  MacLean  stood  in  the  doorway,  her 
face  twitching. 

"What's  the  matter?"  snapped  her  master. 

"Please,  sir,  there  are  men  in  the  garden!" 
she  cried. 

The  lawyer  leapt  to  his  feet. 

"Men  in  the  garden!"  he  cried,  and  there  was 
a  note  in  his  voice  which  startled  even  tough  Ned 
Cromarty.  "What  are  they  doing?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  It  sounded  almost  as  if 
they  was  digging." 

Simon  swayed  for  an  instant  and  grasped  the 
back  of  his  chair.  Then  in  a  muffled  voice  he 
muttered : 

"I'm  going  to  see!" 

He  had  scarcely  made  a  step  towards  the  door 
when  Cromarty  was  on  his  feet  too. 

"Steady!"  he  cried.  "Get  out  there,  and  shut 
the  door!" 

The  towering  form  and  formidable  voice  sent 
Mary  out  with  a  shut  door  between  them  almost 
as  the  command  was  off  his  tongue.  A  couple 


TRAPPED  297 

of  strides  and  he  had  got  the  lawyer  by  the 
shoulder  and  pulled  him  back. 

"Sit  down!"  he  commanded. 

Simon  turned  on  him  with  a  new  expression. 
The  terror  had  passed  away  and  he  stood  there 
now  as  the  sheer  beast  at  bay. 

"Damn  you !"  he  muttered,  and  turned  his  back 
for  a  moment. 

The  next,  his  hand  rose  and  simultaneously 
Ned's  arm  shot  out  and  got  him  by  the  wrist, 
while  the  shock  of  his  onslaught  drove  the  man 
back  and  down  into  his  chair.  Though  Simon 
was  tough  and  stoutly  built,  he  was  as  a  child  in 
the  hands  of  his  adversary.  A  sharp  twist  of  the 
wrist  was  followed  by  an  exclamation  of  pain  and 
the  thud  of  something  heavy  on  the  floor.  Ned 
stooped  and  picked  up  the  globular  glass  match 
box  that  had  stood  on  the  table.  For  a  few 
moments  he  stared  at  it  in  dead  silence,  balancing 
it  in  his  hands.  It  was  like  a  small  cannon  ball 
for  concentrated  weight.  Then  in  a  curious  voice 
he  asked: 

"Is  this  the  first  time  you  have  used  this?" 

Simon  made  no  reply.  His  face  was  dead 
white  now,  but  dogged  and  grim,  and  his  mouth 
stayed  tight  as  a  trap.  Ned  replaced  the  match 
box  on  the  table,  and  planted  himself  before  the 
fire. 

"Nothing  to  say?"  he  asked,  and  Simon  said 
nothing. 

They  remained  like  this  for  minute  after  min- 
ute; not  a  movement  in  the  room  and  the  boom- 


298  SIMON 

ing  of  the  wind  the  only  sound.  And  then  came 
footsteps  on  the  gravel  and  the  ringing  of  a  bell. 

"We'll  probably  learn  something  now,"  said 
Ned,  but  the  other  still  said  nothing,  and  only  a 
quick  glance  towards  the  door  gave  a  hint  of  his 
thoughts. 

There  was  no  announcement  this  time.  Super- 
intendent Sutherland  entered  first,  then  the  con- 
stable, and  Carrington  last.  The  superintendent 
went  straight  up  to  the  lawyer,  his  large  face 
preternaturally  solemn.  Touching  him  on  the 
shoulder  he  said: 

"I  arrest  you  in  the  King's  name!" 

The  man  in  the  chair  half  started  up  and  then 
fell  back  again. 

"What  for?"  he  asked  huskily. 

"The  murder  of  Simon  Rattar." 

The  lawyer  took  it  as  one  who  had  seen  the 
sword  descending,  but  not  so  Ned  Cromarty. 

"Of  Simon  Rattar!"  he  shouted.  "What  the 
— then  who  the  devil  is  this?" 

Carrington  answered.  He  spoke  with  his  usual 
easy  smile,  but  his  triumphant  eye  betrayed  his 
heart. 

"The  superintendent  has  omitted  part  of  the 
usual  formalities,"  he  said.  "This  person  should 
have  been  introduced  as  Mr.  George  Rattar." 

"George!"  gasped  Ned.  "But  I  thought  he 
was  dead !" 

"So  did  I,"  said  Carrington,  "but  he  wasn't." 

"What  proof  have  you  of  this  story?"  de- 
demanded  the  man  in  the  chair  suddenly. 


TRAPPED  299 

"We  have  just  dug  up  your  brother's  body 
from  that  flower  bed,"  said  Carrington  quietly. 
"Do  you  recognise  his  ring?" 

He  held  up  a  gold  signet  ring,  and  the  lawyer 
fell  back  in  his  chair. 

"But  look  here!"  exclaimed  Ned,  "what  about 
Sir  Reginald's  murder?  He  did  that  too,  I 
suppose!" 

Carrington  nodded. 

"We  hope  to  add  that  to  his  account  in  a  day 
or  two.  This  is  enough  to  be  going  on  with,  but 
as  a  matter  of  fact  we  have  nearly  enough  evi- 
dence now  to  add  the  other  charge." 

"I  can  add  one  bit,"  said  Ned,  picking  up  the 
match  box.  "He  has  just  tried  to  do  me  in  with 
this  little  thing,  and  I  take  it,  it  was  the  third 
time  of  using." 

Carrington  weighed  it  in  his  hand,  and  then 
said  to  the  prisoner : 

"You  put  it  in  the  end  of  a  stocking,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

The  man  looked  up  at  him  with  a  new  expres- 
sion in  his  eye.  If  it  were  not  a  trace  of  grim 
humour,  it  was  hard  to  say  what  else  it  could  be. 

"Get  me  a  drink,"  he  said  huskily,  nodding 
towards  the  tantalus  on  the  side  table,  "and  I'll 
tell  you  the  whole  damned  yarn.  My  God,  I'm 
dry  as  a  damned  bone!" 

"Give  me  the  key  of  the  tantalus,"  said  Car- 
rington promptly. 

But  the  superintendent  seemed  somewhat 
taken  aback. 


300  SIMON 

"Anything  you  say  may  be  used  against  you," 
he  reminded  the  prisoner. 

"You  know  enough  to  swing  me,  anyhow/' 
said  Rattar,  "hut  I'd  like  you  to  know  that  I 
didn't  really  mean  to  do  it.  I  want  that  drink- 
first  though!" 

He  took  the  glass  of  whisky  and  water  and  as 
he  raised  it  to  his  lips,  that  same  curious  look 
came  back  into  his  eye. 

"Here's  to  the  firm  of  S.  and  G.  Rattar,  and 
may  their  clients  be  as  damned  as  themselves!" 
he  said  with  a  glance  at  Cromarty,  and  finished 
the  drink  at  a  draught. 


THE  YARN 

"I  NEEDN'T  trouble  you  with  my  adventures 
before  I  came  down  her  to  visit  brother  Simon," 
began  the  prisoner,  "for  you  know  them  well 
enough.  It  was  about  a  month  ago  when  I 
turned  up  at  this  house  one  night." 

"How  did  you  get  here?"  demanded  the  super- 
intendent. 

"I  did  the  last  bit  under  the  seat  of  the  car- 
riage," grinned  Rattar,  "and  when  we  got  into 
the  station  I  hopped  out  on  the  wrong  side  of 
the  train.  The  way  I  paid  my  fare  wasn't  bad 
either,  considering  I  hadn't  half  of  the  fare  from 
London  in  my  pocket  when  I  started — or  any- 
thing like  it.  However,  the  point  is  I  got  here 
and  just  as  I'd  come  through  the  gates  I  had 
the  luck  to  see  both  the  maids  going  out.  So 
the  coast  was  clear. 

"Well,  I  rang  the  bell  and  out  came  Simon — 
the  man  who'd  got  me  convicted,  and  my  own 
brother  too,  mind  you! — looking  as  smug  as  the 
hard-hearted  old  humbug  he  was.  He  got  the 
shock  of  his  life  when  he  saw  who  it  was,  but 
I  began  gently  and  I  put  a  proposition  to  him. 
I'll  bet  none  of  you  will  guess  what  it  was!" 

301 


302  SIMON 

He  looked  round  the  company,  and  Carring- 
ton  answered: 

"Blackmail  of  some  sort." 

"You  may  call  it  blackmail  if  you  like,  but 
what  was  the  sort?  Well,  you'd  never  guess.  I 
was  wearing  a  beard  and  moustaches  then,  but  I 
knew  if  I  took  them  off  I'd  look  so  like  Simon 
that  no  one  meeting  one  of  us  would  know  which 
it  was,  supposing  we  were  dressed  exactly  alike 
and  I  did  Simon's  grunting  tricks  and  all  that. 
And  Simon  knew  it  too. 

"  'Well,  Simon,  my  dear  brother,'  I  said  to 
him,  'I'll  make  you  a  sporting  proposition.  My 
idea  is  to  settle  down  in  this  old  place,  and  I'm 
so  fond  of  you  I  mean  to  shave,  get  an  outfit  just 
like  yours,  and  give  free  rein  to  my  aff ection  for 
you.  I'm  so  fond  of  you,'  I  said,  'that  I  know 
I  shan't  be  able  to  keep  more  than  five  yards 
away  from  you  whenever  you  are  walking  the 
streets,  and  I'll  have  to  sit  in  church  beside  you, 
Simon.  That's  my  present  programme.' 

"I  let  that  sink  in,  and  then  I  went  on : 

"  'Supposing  this  programme  embarrasses  you, 
Simon,  well  there's  one  way  out  of  it,  and  I  leave 
it  to  your  judgment  to  say  what  it  is.' 

"Now,  mind  you,  I'd  banked  on  this  coming 
off,  for  I  knew  what  a  stickler  Simon  was  for  the 
respectable  and  the  conventional  and  all  that. 
Can't  you  see  the  two  of  us  going  through  the 
streets  together,  five  yards  apart  and  dressed 
exactly  alike!  Wouldn't  the  small  boys  have 
liked  it!  That  was  my  only  idea  in  coming  down 


THE  YARN  303 

here.  I  meant  no  more  mischief,  I'll  swear  to 
that!  Unfortunately,  though,  I'd  got  so  keen  on 
the  scheme  that  I  hadn't  thought  of  its  weak 
spot. 

"Simon  said  not  a  word,  but  just  looked  at  me 
— exactly  as  I've  been  looking  at  people  since  I 
took  his  place  in  society.  And  then  he  asked  me 
if  I  was  really  very  hard  up.  Like  a  fool  I  told 
him  the  plain  truth,  that  I  had  inside  of  five 
bob  in  my  pockets  and  that  wras  every  penny  I 
owned  in  the  world. 

"He  grinned  then — I  can  see  him  grinning 
now — and  he  said: 

'  'In  that  case  you'll  have  a  little  difficulty  in 
paying  your  board  and  lodging  here,  and  still 
more  in  buying  clothes.  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do,' 
he  said,  'I'll  buy  a  ticket  back  to  London  for  you 
and  leave  it  with  the  stationmaster,  and  that's 
every  penny  you'll  ever  get  out  of  me !' 

"I  saw  he  had  me,  but  I  wasn't  going  off  on 
those  terms.  I  damned  him  to  his  face  and  he 
tried  to  shut  the  door  on  me.  We  were  talking 
at  the  front  door  all  this  while,  I  may  mention. 
I  got  my  foot  in  the  way,  and  as  I  was  always 
a  bit  stronger  than  Simon,  I  had  that  door  open 
after  a  tussle  and  then  I  followed  him  into  the 
library. 

"I  knew  the  man  was  hard  as  flint  and  never 
showed  mercy  to  any  one  in  his  life  when  he  had 
them  on  toast,  and  I  knew  he  had  me  on  toast. 
How  was  I  to  get  any  change  out  of  him?  That 
was  what  I  was  wondering  as  I  followed  him, 


304  SIMON 

and  then  all  at  once  something — the  devil  if  you 
like — put  the  idea  into  my  head.    I'd  be  Simon!" 

He  looked  round  on  his  audience  as  though  he 
still  relished  the  memory  of  that  inspiration. 

"The  beauty  of  the  idea  was  that  no  one  would 
ever  dream  of  suspecting  a  man  of  not  being  him- 
self !  They  might  suspect  him  of  a  lot  of  things, 
but  not  of  that.  I  hadn't  thought  of  the  scheme 
ten  seconds  before  I  realised  how  dead  safe  it 
was  so  long  as  I  kept  my  head.  And  I  have  kept 
it.  No  one  can  deny  that!" 

His  glance  this  time  challenged  a  contradiction, 
but  no  one  spoke.  The  circle  of  steadfast  eyes 
and  silent  lips  he  seemed  to  take  as  a  tribute  to 
his  address,  for  he  smiled  and  then  went  on : 

"Yes,  I  kept  my  head  from  the  beginning.  I 
stood  talking  to  him  in  this  very  room,  he  refus- 
ing to  answer  anything  except  to  repeat  that  he'd 
buy  a  ticket  to  London  and  leave  it  with  the 
stationmaster,  and  I  working  out  the  scheme— 
what  to  do  it  with  and  how  to  manage  afterwards. 
I  knew  it  was  a  swinging  risk,  but  against  that 
was  a  starving  certainty,  and  then  I  spied  that 
match  box  and  the  thing  was  settled.  I  got  him 
to  look  the  other  way  for  a  moment — and  then  he 
was  settled.  Give  me  another  drink!" 

Carrington  got  him  a  drink  and  he  gulped  it 
down,  and  then  turned  suddenly  on  Ned  Crom- 
arty. 

"Your  damned  glass  eye  has  been  getting  on 
my  nerves  long  enough!"  he  exclaimed.  "My 
God,  that  eye  and  your  habit  of  hanging  people 


THE  YARN  305 

— I've  had  enough  of  them!  Can't  you  turn  it 
away  from  me?" 

"Won't  turn,'*  said  Ned  coolly,  "spring  broken. 
Get  on  with  your  story!" 

Even  in  his  privileged  position  as  prisoner, 
Rattar  seemed  disinclined  to  have  trouble  with 
his  formidable  ex-client.  He  answered  nothing, 
but  turned  his  shoulder  to  him  and  continued: 

"After  that  was  over  I  set  about  covering  my 
tracks.  The  first  part  was  the  worst.  Before 
the  maids  came  back  I  had  to  get  Simon  stowed 
away  for  the  night — no  time  to  bury  him  then  of 
course,  and  I  had  to  get  into  his  clothes,  shave, 
and  learn  the  lie  of  the  house  and  all  that.  I  did 
it  all  right  and  came  down  to  breakfast  next 
morning  and  passed  muster  with  the  servants, 
and  never  a  suspicion  raised!" 

"There  was  a  little,"  remarked  Carrington, 
"but  never  enough." 

"Not  enough  was  good  enough!" 

"I  am  not  quite  certain  of  that,"  said  Carring- 
ton. "However,  go  on.  Your  next  bunker  was 
the  office." 

The  prisoner  nodded. 

"It  took  some  nerve,"  he  said  complacently, 
"and  I'm  free  to  confess  that  to  begin  with  I 
always  had  a  beastly  feeling  that  some  one  was 
watching  me  and  spotting  something  that  didn't 
look  quite  right,  but,  good  Lord,  keeping  my 
head  the  way  I  kept  it,  there  was  nothing  to 
worry  about!  Who  would  ever  think  that  the 
Simon  Rattar  who  walked  into  his  office  and 


306  SIMON 

grunted  at  his  clerks  on  Wednesday  morning, 
wasn't  the  same  Simon  Rattar  who  walked  in 
and  grunted  on  Tuesday  morning?  And  then  I 
had  one  tremendous  pull  in  knowing  all  the  ropes 
from  old  days.  Simon  was  a  conservative  man, 
nothing  was  ever  changed — not  even  the  clerks, 
so  I  had  the  whole  routine  at  my  fingers.  And 
he  was  an  easy  man  to  imitate  too.  That  was 
where  I  scored  again.  I  daresay  I  have  inherited 
some  of  the  same  tricks  myself.  I  know  I  found 
them  come  quite  easy — the  stare  and  the  silence 
and  the  grunts  and  the  rest  of  them.  And  then 
I  always  had  more  brains  than  Simon  and  could 
pick  up  business  quicker.  You  should  have  heard 
me  making  that  ass  Malcolm  Cromarty,  and  the 
Farmond  girl,  and  this  hangman  with  the  glass 
eye  tell  me  all  about  themselves  and  what  their 
business  was,  without  their  ever  suspecting  they 
were  being  pumped!  For,  mind  you,  I'd  never 
set  eyes  on  Malcolm  Cromarty  or  the  Farmond 
girl  before  in  my  life !  No,  it  wasn't  at  the  office 
I  had  the  nastiest  time.  It  was  burying  the  body 
that  night." 

The  boastful  smile  died  off  his  lips  and  for  a 
moment  he  shivered  a  little. 

"What  happened  about  that?"  enquired  Car- 
rington  keenly. 

Rattar's  voice  instinctively  fell  a  little. 

"When  I  got  home  that  afternoon  I  found  he 
wasn't  quite  dead  after  all  I" 

"That  accounts  for  it!"  murmured  Carrington. 

"For  what?" 


THE  YARN  307 

"Your  maid  heard  him  moving." 

The  prisoner  seemed  to  have  recovered  from 
his  passing"  emotion. 

"And  I  told  her  it  was  a  rat,  and  she  swal- 
lowed it !"  he  laughed.  "Well,  he  didn't  move  for 
long,  and  I  had  fixed  up  quite  a  good  scheme  for 
getting  him  out  of  the  house.  A  man  was  to  call 
for  old  papers.  I  even  did  two  voices  talking  in 
the  hall  to  make  the  bluff  complete !  Not  being 
able  to  get  his  ring  off  his  finger  rather  worried 
me,  but  I  put  that  right  by  an  advertisement  in 
the  paper  saying  I'd  lost  it!" 

He  was  arrested  by  the  look  on  Carrington's 
face. 

"What  happened?"  he  exclaimed.  "Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  gave  me  away  ?" 

"Those  superfluous  precautions  generally  give 
people  away." 

"But  how?" 

"It  doesn't  matter  now.  You'll  learn  later. 
What  next?" 

"Next?"  said  Rattar.  "Well,  I  just  went  on 

keeping  my  head  and  bluffing  people "  he 

broke  off,  looked  at  Superintendent  Sutherland, 
and  gave  a  short  laugh.  "I  only  lost  my  nerve  a 
bit  once,  and  that  was  when  the  glass-eyed  hang- 
man butted  in  and  said  he  was  going  to  get  down 
a  detective.  It  struck  me  then  it  was  time  I  was 
off — and  what's  more,  I  started!" 

The  superintendent's  mouth  fell  open. 

"You — you  weren't  the  man—       '  he  began. 

"Yes,"  scoffed  the  prisoner,  "I  was  the  man 


308  SIMON 

with  toothache  in  that  empty  carriage.  I'd  got 
in  at  the  wrong  side  after  the  ticket  collector 
passed  and  just  about  twenty  seconds  before  you 
opened  the  door.  But  the  sight  of  your  red  face 
made  me  change  my  plans,  and  I  was  out  again 
before  that  train  started!  A  bright  policeman 
you  are!  After  that  I  decided  to  stick  it  out  and 
face  the  music;  and  I  faced  it." 

His  mouth  shut  tight  and  he  sat  back  in  his 
chair,  his  eyes  travelling  round  the  others  as 
though  to  mark  their  unwilling  admiration.  He 
certainly  saw  it  in  the  faces  of  the  two  open- 
eyed  policemen,  but  Cromarty's  was  hard  and 
set,  and  he  seemed  still  to  be  waiting. 

"  You  haven't  told  us  about  Sir  Reginald  yet/' 
he  said. 

Rattar  looked  at  him  defiantly. 

"No  evidence  there,"  he  said  with  a  cunning 
shake  of  his  head,  "y°u  can  go  on  guessing  1" 

"Would  you  like  to  smoke  a  pipe?"  asked 
Carrington  suddenly. 

The  man's  eyes  gleamed. 

"By  God,  yes!" 

"You  can  have  one  if  you  tell  us  about  Sir 
Reginald.  We've  got  you  anyhow,  and  there 
will  be  evidence  enough  there  too  when  we've  put 
it  together." 

The  superintendent  looked  a  trifle  shocked,  but 
Carrington's  sway  over  him  was  by  this  time 
evidently  unbounded.  He  coughed  an  official 
protest  but  said  nothing. 


THE  YARN  309 

The  prisoner  only  hesitated  for  a  moment.  He 
saw  Carrington  taking  out  a  cigarette,  and  then 
he  took  out  his  keys  and  said: 

"This  is  the  key  for  that  drawer.  You'll  find 
my  pipe  and  baccy  there.  I'll  tell  you  the  rest." 
And  then  he  started  and  exclaimed:  "But  how 
the  h —  did  you  know  I  smoked?" 

"At  five  minutes  past  nine  o'clock  last  night," 
said  Carrington,  as  he  handed  him  his  pipe,  "I 
was  within  three  paces  of  you." 

The  prisoner  stared  at  him  with  a  wry  face. 

"You  devil!"  he  murmured,  and  then  added 
with  some  philosophy:  "After  all,  I'd  sooner  be 
hanged  than  stop  smoking."  And  with  that  he 
lit  his  pipe. 

"You  want  to  know  about  old  Cromarty,"  he 
resumed.  "Well,  I  made  my  first  bad  break 
when  I  carried  on  a  correspondence  with  him 
which  Simon  had  begun,  not  knowing  they  had 
had  a  talk  between  whiles  cancelling  the  whole 
thing.  You  know  about  it  and  about  the  letter 
Sir  Reginald  sent  me  after  I'd  written.  Well, 
when  I  got  that  letter  I  admit  it  rattled  me  a 
bit.  I've  often  wondered  since  whether  he  had 
really  suspected  anything  or  whether  he  woufd 
have  sooner  or  later.  Anyhow  I  got  it  into  my 
head  that  the  game  was  up  if  something  didn't 
happen.  And  so  it  happened." 

"You  went  and  killed  him?"  said  Ned. 

"That's  for  you  and  your  glass  eye  to  find 
out!"  snapped  the  prisoner. 

"Take  his  pipe  away,"  said  Carrington  quietly. 


310  SIMON 

"Damn  it!"  cried  Rattar,  "I'll  tell  you,  only 
I'm  fed  up  with  that  man's  hullying!  I  put  it 
in  a  stocking"  (he  nodded  towards  the  match 
box)  "just  as  you  guessed  and  I  went  out  to 
Keldale  that  night.  My  God,  what  a  walk  that 
was  in  the  dark!  I'd  half  forgotten  the  way 
down  to  the  house  and  I  thought  every  other 
tree  was  a  man  watching  me.  I  don't  know  yet 
how  I  got  to  that  library  window.  I  remembered 
his  ways  and  I  thought  he'd  be  sitting  up  there 
alone;  but  it  was  just  a  chance,  and  I'd  no  idea 
I'd  have  the  luck  to  pick  a  night  when  he  was 
sleeping  in  his  dressing  room.  Give  me  another 
drink!" 

Carrington  promptly  brought  one  and  again 
it  vanished  almost  in  a  gulp. 

"Well,  I  saw  him  through  a  gap  in  the  cur- 
tains and  I  risked  a  tap  on  the  glass.  My  God, 
how  surprised  he  was  to  see  me  standing  there! 

I  grinned  at  him  and  he  let  me  in,  and  then 

He  broke  off  and  fell  forward  in  his  chair  with 
his  face  in  his  hands.  "This  whisky  has  gone  to 
my  head!"  he  muttered.  "You've  mixed  it  too 
damned  strong!" 

Ned  Cromarty  sprang  up,  his  face  working. 
Carrington  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"Let's  come  away,"  he  said  quietly.  "We've 
heard  everything  necessary.  You  can't  touch 
him  now." 

Cromarty  let  him  keep  his  arm  through  his  as 
they  went  to  the  door. 


THE  YARN  311 

"I'll  send  a  cab  up  for  you  in  a  few  minutes," 
Carrington  added  to  the  superintendent. 

They  left  the  prisoner  still  sitting  muttering 
into  his  hands. 


XL 

THE  LAST  CHAPTER 

ON  their  way  down  to  the  hotel  Ned  Cromarty 
only  spoke  once,  and  that  was  to  exclaim: 

"If  I'd  only  known  when  I  had  him  alone! 
Why  didn't  you  tell  me  more  before  I  went  in?" 

"For  your  own  sake,"  said  Carrington  gently. 
"The  law  is  so  devilish  undiscriminating.  Also, 
I  wasn't  absolutely  certain  then  myself." 

They  said  nothing  more  till  they  were  seated 
in  Carrington's  sitting  room  and  his  employer 
had  got  a  cigar  between  his  teeth  and  pushed 
away  an  empty  tumbler. 

"I'm  beginning  to  feel  a  bit  better,"  said  he. 
"Fire  away  now  and  tell  me  how  you  managed 
this  trick.  I'd  like  to  see  just  how  derned  stupid 
I've  been!" 

"My  dear  fellow,  I  assure  you  you  haven't  I 
I'm  a  professional  at  this  game,  and  I  tell  you 
honestly  it  was  at  least  as  much  good  luck  as 
good  guidance  that  put  me  on  to  the  truth  at 
last." 

"I  wonder  what  you  call  luck,"  said  Ned. 
"Seems  to  me  you  were  up  against  it  all  the 
time!  You've  told  me  how  you  caught  Rattar 
lying  at  the  start.  Well,  that  was  pretty  smart 

312 


THE  LAST  CHAPTER  813 

of  you  to  begin  with.  Then,  what  next?  How 
did  things  come?" 

"Well,"  said  Carrington,  "I  picked  up  a  little 
something  on  my  first  visit  to  Keldale.  From 
Bisset's  description  I  gathered  that  the  body 
must  have  been  dragged  along  the  floor  and  left 
near  the  door.  Why?  Obviously  as  a  blind. 
Adding  that  fact  to  the  unfastened  window,  the 
broken  table,  the  mud  on  the  floor,  and  the  hearth 
brush,  the  odds  seemed  heavy  on  entry  by  the 
window.  I  also  found  that  the  middle  blind  had 
been  out  of  order  that  night  and  that  it  might 
have  been  quite  possible  for  any  one  outside  to 
have  seen  Sir  Reginald  sitting  in  the  room  and 
known  he  was  alone  there.  Again,  it  seemed  long 
odds  on  his  having  recognised  the  man  outside 
and  opened  the  window  himself,  which,  again, 
pointed  to  the  man  being  some  one  he  knew  quite 
well  and  never  suspected  mischief  from." 

"Those  were  always  my  own  ideas,  except  that 
I  felt  bamboozled  where  you  felt  clear — which 
shows  the  difference  between  our  brains !" 

Carrington  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  wish  I  could  think  so!  No,  no,  it's  merely 
a  case  of  every  man  to  his  own  trade.  And  as  a 
matter  of  fact  I  was  left  just  as  bamboozled  as 
you  were.  For  who  could  this  mysterious  man 
be?  Of  the  people  inside  the  house,  I  had  struck 
out  Miss  Farmond,  Bisset,  Lady  Cromarty,  and 
all  the  female  servants.  Only  Sir  Malcolm  was 
left.  I  wired  for  him  to  come  up  and  was  able 
to  score  him  out  too.  I  also  visited  you  and 


SIMON 

scored  you  out.  So  there  I  was — with  no  con- 
ceivable criminal!" 

"But  you'd  already  begun  to  suspect  Rattar, 
hadn't  you?" 

"I  knew  he  had  lied  about  engaging  me;  I  dis- 
covered from  Lady  Cromarty  that  he  had  told 
her  of  Sir  Malcolm's  engagement  to  Miss  Far- 
mond — and  I  suspected  he  had  started  her  sus- 
picions of  them ;  and  I  saw  that  he  was  set  on  that 
theory,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  was  palpably 
improbable  if  one  actually  knew  the  people.  Of 
course  if  one  didn't,  it  was  plausible  enough. 
When  I  first  came  down  here  it  seemed  to  me 
a  very  likely  theory  and  I  was  prepared  to  find 
a  guilty  couple,  but  when  I  met  Miss  Farmond 
and  told  her  suddenly  that  Sir  Malcolm  was 
arrested,  and  she  gazed  blankly  at  me  and  asked 
'What  for?'  wellr  I  simply  ran  my  pencil,  so  to 
speak,  through  her  name  and  there  was  an  end 
of  her  I  The  same  with  Sir  Malcolm  when  I  met 
him.  And  yet  here  was  the  family  lawyer,  who 
knew  them  both  perfectly,  so  convinced  of  their 
guilt  that  he  was  obviously  stifling  investigation 
in  any  other  direction.  And  on  top  of  all  that, 
all  my  natural  instincts  and  intuitions  told  me 
that  the  man  was  a  bad  hat." 

"But  didn't  all  that  make  you  suspect  him?" 

"Of  what?  Of  leaving  his  respectable  villa  at 
the  dead  of  night,  tramping  several  miles  at  his 
age  in  the  dark,  and  deliberately  murdering  his 
own  best  client  and  old  friend  under  circum- 
stances so  risky  to  himself  that  only  a  combina- 


THE  LAST  CHAPTER  315 

tion  of  lucky  chances  saw  him  safely  through  the 
adventure?  Nothing — absolutely  nothing  but 
homicidal  mania  could  possibly  account  for  such 
a  performance,  and  the  man  was  obviously  as 
sane  as  you  or  I.  I  felt  certain  that  there  was 
something  wrong  somewhere,  but  as  for  suspect- 
ing him  of  being  the  principal  in  the  crime,  the 
idea  was  stark  lunacy!" 

"By  George,  it  was  a  tough  proposition!"  said 
Ned.  "By  the  way,  had  you  heard  of  George 
Rattar  at  that  time?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  heard  of  him,  and  knew  they  re- 
sembled one  another,  but  as  I  was  told  that  he 
had  left  the  place  for  years  and  was  now  dead, 
my  thoughts  never  even  once  ran  in  that  direc- 
tion until  I  got  into  a  state  of  desperation,  and 
then  I  merely  surmised  that  his  misdeeds  might 
have  been  at  the  bottom  of  some  difficulty  be- 
tween Simon  and  Sir  Reginald." 

"Then  how  on  earth  did  you  ever  get  on  to  the 
right  track?" 

"I  never  would  have  if  the  man  hadn't  given 
himself  away.  To  begin  with,  he  was  fool  enough 
to  fall  in  with  my  perfectly  genuine  assumption 
that  he  was  either  employing  me  or  acting  for  my 
employer.  No  doubt  he  stood  to  score  if  the 
bluff  had  come  off,  and  he  banked  on  your  stipu- 
lation that  your  name  shouldn't  appear.  But  if 
he  had  only  been  honest  in  that  matter,  my  sus- 
picions would  never  have  started — not  at  that 
point  anyhow." 


316  SIMON 

"That  was  Providence — sure!"  said  Ned  with 
conviction. 

"I'm  inclined  to  think  it  was,"  agreed  Carring- 
ton.  "Then  again  his  advice  to  Sir  Malcolm  and 
Miss  Farmond  was  well  enough  designed  to 
further  his  own  scheme  of  throwing  suspicion  on 
them,  but  it  simply  ended  in  his  being  bowled 
out  both  times,  and  throwing  suspicion  on  him- 
self. But  the  precaution  which  actually  gave  him 
away  was  putting  in  that  advertisement  about 
his  ring." 

"I  was  just  wondering,"  said  Ned,  "how  that 
did  the  trick." 

"By  the  merest  fluke.  I  noticed  it  when  I  was 
making  enquiries  at  the  Police  Office  on  quite 
different  lines,  but  you  can  imagine  that  I 
switched  off  my  other  enquiries  pretty  quick 
when  Superintendent  Sutherland  calmly  ad- 
vanced the  theory  that  the  ring  was  stolen  when 
Rattar's  house  was  entered  by  some  one  unknown 
on  the  very  night  of  the  murder!" 

"This  is  the  first  I've  heard  of  that!"  cried 
Ned. 

"It  was  the  first  I  had,  but  it  led  me  straight 
to  Rattar's  house  and  a  long  heart  to  heart  talk 
with  his  housemaid.  That  was  when  I  collected 
that  extraordinary  mixed  bag  of  information 
which  I  was  wondering  yesterday  whether  to 
believe  or  not.  Here  are  the  items,  and  you  can 
judge  for  yourself  what  my  state  of  mind  was 
when  I  was  carrying  about  the  following  pre- 
cious pieces  of  information." 


THE  LAST  CHAPTER  317 

He  ticked  the  items  off  on  his  fingers. 

"A  mysterious  man  who  entered  the  garden 
one  night  and  left  his  footprints  in  the  gravel, 
and  whose  visit  had  a  strange  and  mysterious 
effect  on  Rattar.  Funny  feelings  produced  in 
the  bosom  of  the  housemaid  by  the  presence  of 
her  master.  Doors  of  unused  rooms  mysteriously 
locked  and  keys  taken  away ;  said  to  be  old  papers 
inside.  Mysterious  visit  of  mysterious  man  at 
dead  of  night  to  remove  the  said  papers.  A  ring 
that  couldn't  come  off  the  owner's  finger  mys- 
teriously lost.  Mysterious  burglary  on  night  of 
the  murder  by  mysterious  burglar  who  left  all 
windows  and  doors  locked  behind  him  and  took 
nothing  away.  Mysterious  perambulations  of 
his  garden  every  night  at  nine  o'clock  by  Mr. 
Simon  Rattar." 

"Great  Scot!"  murmured  Cromarty. 

"I  have  given  you  the  items  in  what  turned 
out  to  be  their  order  of  date,  but  I  got  them 
higgledy-piggledy  and  served  up  in  a  sauce  of 
mystery  and  trembly  sensations  that  left  me  ut- 
terly flummoxed  as  to  how  much — if  anything — 
was  sober  fact.  However,  I  began  by  fastening 
on  to  two  things.  The  first  was  the  burglary, 
which  of  course  at  once  suggested  the  possibility 
that  the  man  who  had  committed  the  crime  at 
Keldale  had  returned  to  Rattar's  house  and  got 
in  by  that  window.  The  second  was  the  nightly 
perambulations,  which  could  easily  be  tested. 
When  Mr.  Rattar  emerged  at  nine  that  night,  I 


318  SIMON 

was  in  the  garden  before  him.  And  what  do  you 
think  he  did?" 

"Had  a  look  at  his  brother's  grave?" 

"Smoked  two  pipes  of  tobacco!  A  man  who 
was  an  anti-tobacco  fanatic!  The  truth  hit  me 
straight  in  the  eye — 'That  man  is  not  Simon 
Rattar !'  And  then  of  course  everything  dropped 
into  its  place.  The  ex-convict  twin  brother,  the 
only  evidence  of  whose  supposititious  death  was 
an  announcement  in  the  paper,  obviously  put  in 
as  a  blind.  The  personal  resemblance  between 
the  two.  All  the  yarns  told  me  by  the  house- 
maid, including  the  strange  visitor — George  of 
course  arriving;  the  man  who  came  for  the  pa- 
pers— George  himself  taking  out  the  body;  and 
the  vanished  ring.  Everything  fitted  in  now,  and 
the  correspondence  between  Sir  Reginald  and 
Rattar  which  had  beaten  me  before,  gave  the 
clue  at  once  as  to  motive." 

"I  guess  you  felt  you  had  deserved  a  drink  that 
trip !"  said  Ned. 

"I  didn't  stop  to  have  my  drink.  I  went 
straight  off  to  see  old  Ison  and  pumped  him  for 
the  rest  of  the  evening.  He  wasn't  very  helpful 
but  everything  I  could  get  out  of  him  went  to 
confirm  my  theory.  I  found  for  certain  that 
Simon  Rattar  had  never  smoked  in  his  life,  and 
that  George  used  to  be  a  heavy  smoker.  I  also 
learned  that  a  few  recent  peculiarities  of  con- 
duct had  struck  the  not  too  observant  Ison,  one 
being  very  suggestive.  Rattar,  it  seemed,  kept 
an  old  pair  of  kid  gloves  in  his  desk  which  he 


THE  LAST  CHAPTER  319 

was  in  the  habit  of  wearing  when  he  was  alone 
in  the  office." 

"Don't  quite  see  the  bearing  of  that." 

"Well,  on  my  hypothesis  it  was  to  avoid  leaving 
finger  marks.  You  see  George  was  an  ex-convict. 
It  was  a  very  judicious  precaution  too,  and  made 
it  extremely  difficult  to  catch  him  out  by  that 
means,  for  one  could  scarcely  approach  a  re- 
spectable solicitor  and  ask  him  for  an  impression 
of  his  fingers!  And  anyhow,  nothing  could  be 
definitely  proved  against  him  until  we  had  found 
Simon's  body.  That  was  the  next  problem. 
Where  had  he  hidden  it?" 

"And  how  did  you  get  at  that?" 

"Guessed  it.  At  first  my  thoughts  went  too 
far  afield,  but  when  I  went  over  the  times  men- 
tioned in  the  maid's  story  of  the  man  who  took 
away  the  papers,  and  the  fact  that  she  heard  no 
sound  of  a  wheeled  vehicle,  I  realised  that  he 
must  have  simply  planted  it  in  one  of  the  flower 
beds.  This  morning  I  prodded  them  all  with  a 
stout  walking  stick  and  found  the  spot.  Then 
I  talked  like  a  father  to  old  Sutherland  and  fixed 
everything  up  with  him.  And  then  I  sent  my 
wire  to  you." 

"And  you  deliberately  tell  me  you  got  there 
as  much  by  good  luck  as  good  guidance?" 

Carrington's  eyes  thoughtfully  followed  his 
smoke  rings. 

"I  can  see  the  luck  at  every  turn,"  he  answered, 
"and  though  I'd  like  to  believe  in  the  guidance, 
I'm  hanged  if  it's  quite  as  distinct!" 


320  SIMON 

"If  you  are  telling  me  the  neat,  unvarnished 
truth,  Carrington,"  said  his  admiring  employer, 
"I  can  only  say  that  you've  a  lot  to  learn  about 
your  own  abilities — and  I  hope  to  Heaven  you'll 
never  learn  it!" 

"But  I  assure  you  there  are  some  people  who 
think  me  conceited!" 

"There  are  guys  of  all  sorts  in  the  world,"  said 
Ned.  "For  instance  there's  a  girl  who  has  mis- 
taken me  for  a  daisy,  and  I've  got  to  get  back 
to  her  now.  Good  night !  I  won't  say  'Thanks' 
because  I  can't  shout  it  loud  enough." 

When  his  gig  lamps  had  flashed  up  the  silent 
street  and  Carrington  had  turned  back  from  the 
pavement  into  the  hotel,  he  met  his  friend  Miss 
Peterkin. 

"Mr.  Cromarty's  late  to-night,"  said  she.  "A 
fine  gentleman  that!  I  always  say  there  are  few 
like  Mr.  Cromarty  of  Stanesland." 

"That's  lucky  for  me,"  said  Carrington  with  a 
smile  that  puzzled  her  a  little.  "My  business  in 
life  would  be  gone  if  there  were!" 


THE  END 


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